Has your heart hurt so much that you wish it would just stop beating because the pain is too much?

            I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. Of all the days I’ve had in my fifteen year of life, yes I know that isn’t much, this one is possibly the worst. Forget the time I threw on stage in the Year 2 nativity. Forget the whole bikini incident last summer – god that was beyond cringe worthy. That was I-wish-could-disappear-on-the-spot kind of embarrassing.

            I’m not a pessimist. Honestly, cross my heart and hope to die and all that jazz. I’ve always been one of those the-glass-is-half-full-kind-of-girls. But seriously. On a one to ten scale rating this doesn’t even make zero.

            I push back my sopping wet fringe out of my eyes. A sharp suited business man rushes onto the train, he then wrinkles his nose when he sees me and sweeps past. Mind you I don’t blame him. I do look like a drowned rat with my hair in ropey tails and my make-up running. I self-consciously squelch in my seat and an old woman to the left spots me and says “oh gosh here.” She offers me a tissue. “Looks like the weather caught you out!”

            I thank her and take it, the fake smile aching on my face. I dab under my eyes so I no longer look like an extra addition of the Addams Family.

            At what point had my day gone so wrong? When I woke up I felt like I was the luckiest girl alive. I was, well dry, I had an amazing, gorgeous boyfriend and my heart was still intact. But now… I’m just some soaking wet, pathetic, heart broken, just-been-dumped-via-phone-call girl who’s had her purse stolen.

            Normally I love train journeys. I always play a game in my head where I try and guess which person is getting off at what station. Usually the business people get off at Hertford North or maybe Cuffley. Right now though, all I want is to get off this train and find out this day has just been one horrible nightmare.

            The train door jerks open just as an announcement say that it’s about to leave Kings Cross station.

            A boy casually saunters on the train. He’s equally wet as me. Yet somehow, with his hair dripping he manages to look utterly gorgeous, in that dishevelled kind of way.

            He slumps down in the seat opposite me, scowls and looks out of the window.

            Well fine. I don’t feel like talking either.

            The train jerks and pulls out of the station.

            I sigh then immediately regret it. My chest hurts so much I’m finding it hard to breathe.

            How could Matt do this to me? Why? What did I do wrong? All these question whizzing round my head seem so clichéd and that it just hurts even more. That all of this has been one big cliché.

            Girl meets boy. They go out for four months. Girl then arranges to meet up with boy to go to London. Boy doesn’t turn up. Girl rings up to find out why. Boy says he forgot (the liar) and then, oh, by the way things aren’t working out and that I’m dumping you. Girl then gets on train like a complete and utter schmuk.

The rain is pelting down so hard the outside world is blurred. Even that’s a cliché.

Sorry God isn’t here right now, please leave a message I think sourly.

I close my eyes in an attempt to shut out the world. But no such luck. I can still hear some yapping away on their phone and the loud thumping music someone’s listening to on their ipod.

The only comforting thing is the rocking of the train. Rocking…Rocking…Rocking…

Where am I? What time is it?

I crack open my eyes. The sweet, blissful feeling of sleep slips away and it all comes crashing down. I’m still on the train.

I bite my lip and try and act totally cool. What time is it? My stop must be up soon…

The train judders to a stop. This must be it. I stand up and make a quick glance out of the window.

Letchworth Garden City.

“Damnit!” I yell leaping off my seat and sprinting off the train. I skid as my shoes struggle to grip the platform.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger,” I mutter under my breath. “Oh fantastic. End of the line.”

I have no money since someone nicked my purse on the tube. So I can’t afford another train ticket and the guy at the barrier wouldn’t let me through anyway with a return ticket to Hertford North.

“Okay, think rationally,” I tell myself. “C’mon Jude think.”

Hopefully, if I’m lucky, the man at the barrier will have so many people coming he’ll just open it up. Though I’m not feeling too optimistic judging by the way my day has gone so far.

“Oh sod it. Just go for it Jude.” So I do.

There are a couple of people at the barrier and yes! He’s opening it. I sneak behind them and quickly flash the ticket.

“Wait a minute.” Busted.

I look up politely at the man. “Yes?” I say in perfect innocence.

He snatches the ticket off me. “This is a return to Hertford North.”

Yes I am not a complete moron. “I know, I’m really sorry I-”

“What does it say?”

I blink. “Sorry?”

“What does the ticket say?” The man says in that stupid patronising way that all adults reserve for teenagers.

“A return to Hertford,” I say slowly.

“Exactly,” the man nods.

I bite my lip. “Look I’m really sorry. I fell asleep on the train and missed my stop. I’m really sorry. Can I call my parents and I’ll be able to pay for another one that’s to Letchworth?”

“What does the ticket say?” He repeats again not answering my question.

“What?” I say bewildered.

The man rolls his eyes at me. “Can you read?”

I contemplate either crying or punching the guy in the face. Oh course I can bloody read.

“Yes,” I reply gritting my teeth. “I can read.”

“What does the ticket say then?”

This bad day is slowly turning into living hell. “A return to Hertford,” I tell him my teeth still glued together.

“Which means you have to pay the fine,” the man says ultra slow as if I’m utterly stupid. He jabs a podgy finger at a sign.

£20. £20? I don’t have so much as a penny on me.

“Listen,” I start, not really knowing how I’m going to get out of this. “I-”

“Excuse me is there a problem?”

Both the ticket guy and I turn to see a carelessly gorgeous boy standing next to us. He looks somehow vaguely familiar… With the dishevelled hair and faintly exotic eyes.

Then it hits me. It’s the boy off the train.

Immediately a ghost of a blush creeps upon my cheeks.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the man says to him rudely. “If you have a ticket then go through the barrier.”

The boy eyes the man then looks at me. “But it does,” he says easily and he slides an arm round my waist. “Because she’s my girlfriend.”

With a quick nudge I know to play along. I nod and smile at the ticket man.

“Anyway,” the boy says in a totally slick and casual way I can only admire. “You can’t fine her.”

“Yeah?” the man growls up since the boy he’s at least a foot taller than him.

            “Yeah,” the boy tells him. “Because she’s got a child ticket and you can’t fine children. It’s illegal.”

            Now why don’t I know that?

            The man scowls. “I was just trying to teach her a lesson,” he mutters but he finally gives in and opens up the barrier.

            The boy flicks his ticket at him and we walk through the barrier. Free!

            “Keep playing along,” the boy whispers in my ear. So we walk out of the Letchworth station like we’ve been going out forever.

            When we reach the car park the boy lets go of me.

            “Thank you so much,” I gush. “Really you’re amazing.”

            For the first time he smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Listen do you want to go and get a coffee or something?”

            I shake my head. “No I better figure out a way home or ring my parents…Sorry.”

            The boy looks at me. “I know it’s none of my business but you look like you’ve had a really crap day. Let me buy you a coffee.”

            “No strings attached right?” I ask because the last thing I need is a rebound guy.

            “No string attached,” he promises and this time it’s me who dredges up a smile. Boyfriends are a waste of time. But friends… Well a friend is the one thing I really need right now.

            “I’m Jude,” I say holding out my hand.

            “Jake,” he says shaking it.

            And suddenly, for the first time today, the sun starts to shine.

We’re all familiar with the story of Goldilocks and the three bears. The bears went out for a morning ramble whilst their porridge cooled and Goldilocks wandered intrepidly into their home, tasted the porridge, sat on the chairs, tried the beds, fell asleep, and awoke to have the bejesus scared out of her when she saw the three of them ogling her as she slept. I think the moral of the story was supposed to be “stay out of houses of strangers”…or some crap like that.

But that wasn’t quite the end of the story, you see.

The next day, Papa Bear was mending Baby Bear’s broken chair whilst Mama Bear cooked another pot of porridge. Baby Bear sat on a stool in the corner with his nose wrinkled up as he watched Mama Bear.

“Why do we always have to eat that stuff?” he asked disgustedly.

“Porridge is full of fiber,” came the answer. “It’s nature’s broom,” she added, with Baby Bear’s whining voice mocking hers.

“Isn’t there a reason why we have claws and fangs?” he protested as Mama Bear scooped porridge into his bowl. He slogged over to the table and sat down in a huff. Papa Bear seated himself and then Mama Bear took her place. Each tasted their porridge in turn.

“Mine’s too hot,” Papa Bear said in annoyance and dropped his spoon into the bowl. “Every morning my porridge is too dang hot to eat.”

“Mine’s too cold,” said Mama Bear after testing hers.

Papa Bear’s eyebrows knitted together. “Well now isn’t that an oddity?” he asked sarcastically. “It comes from the same pot right off the stove and by some anomaly of thermal physics it’s now ice cold.”

Baby Bear studied his porridge for a moment. “Then by process of elimination that means that mine is just right.”

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here,” Papa Bear said, holding up one paw. “Some little blonde haired girl is supposed to come in and say all of this.”

“Why can’t we eat some meat?” Baby Bear spouted.

Both parents gave him the “be quiet” look. Baby Bear sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and glowered at the bowl in front of him.

“My killing instincts are wasted on this crap,” he mumbled sourly.

Papa Bear stood up. “Let’s go for a walk whilst our porridge cools.”

“Mine’s already cold!” Mama Bear protested.

“And mine’s just right!” responded Baby Bear.

“You didn’t want it when your mother was cooking it!” Papa Bear said in great annoyance as he pointed a claw at his son.

“What about mine?” Mama Bear asked.

“It’ll heat up while we’re gone,” he answered in a surly tone.

“We can’t leave,” his wife said. “Haven’t you learned anything from yesterday?”

“You mean that little brat that came in and ransacked our house?” he asked. “We scared the hell out of her. She won’t come back.”

Papa Bear turned to the door and grabbed his hat from the hat rack. Sensing that his family was not following him, he said:

“We are going for a WALK! This family never does anything together.”

Both Mama and Baby Bear rose reluctantly from the table and followed Papa Bear out of the door.

“You know, if we were real bears,” began Mama to Papa, “it would just be me and Baby living here and you’d be out on your own somewhere.”

“When are you going to stop calling me ‘baby’?!” cried Baby Bear. “I’m eighteen now.”

“All of you shutup!” yelled Papa Bear.

And so as they argued they wandered into the deep, dark forest.

Not long after they left, a shadow slid silently along the wall at the back of their house. It moved cautiously to the front, to the very door by which the bears had just left. And just like the day before, the door stood wide open. Not smart.

In went the shadow followed by an almost vampyric girl. Her black dress complimented her black hair and eyes, making her already pale skin even more so. The chains about her waist clinked softly as she stepped carefully through the door in her Frankenstein-type black boots. She held a black sack in one hand. Once inside she took a sniff of the air. Her face screwed up in disgust as she walked to the table. She looked into Papa Bear’s bowl.

“I don’t care how the story goes, I am not tasting that rubbish,” she said mumbled aloud to herself. She went along the table and quickly dipped her finger into each bowl.

“Ow, too hot. Yikes, too cold. Ah, just right.”

She espied the three chairs sitting silently by the hearth. She went to Papa Bear’s chair first.

“How the devil did Goldilocks get up there?” she asked as she studied the height.

She went to Mama Bear’s chair.

“This was built for a pigmy,” she said in disdain.

Then she went to Baby Bear’s chair and stood on it.

“Juuuuuuuusssst right.”

She pushed the chair over to the pantry, opened it, and pulled out the cookie jar. After every cookie was consumed and her stomach purged, she climbed the stairs to the bedroom, twisting her ankles a few times on the way up because of the awful boots that she was wearing. She finally made it to the beds. The little girl took a shiny new penny from her pocket and bounced it off of Papa Bear’s bed. The penny jumped straight up and lodged itself into the ceiling.

“Too hard.”

Now Mama Bear’s bed. The little girl bent down to the black sack that she dragged at her side and untied it. Inside was a beautiful cat with amber eyes and long, snowy white fur, which had actually been chocolate-colored up until the moment of its demise. Its face was distorted in sheer terror and its tail was three times its normal size. The girl lifted the cat out by the tail to hold it up in front of her. The cat, now three days dead, stuck out straight.

“Nice kitty,” she crooned with a wicked smile. She dropped it onto Mama Bear’s bed. The mattress, since it was too soft, immediately swallowed the rigid feline. The girl breathed a sigh of relief. She had found a place to hide another of Goldilocks’ “missing” pets.

The girl pivoted on one foot until she faced Baby Bear’s bed. From what her sister had told her the day before, this one was just right. She climbed upon the mattress and began to jump on it, here and there, all over the bed. Yes, this one was just right.

But then…

The three bears were ambling back to the house, still in a heated argument over the temperature of the porridge and the consumption of meat. They stepped across the threshold to find that their house had once again been visited. Baby Bear’s chair sat by the pantry with the cookie jar next to it, void of cookies but full of cookie-scented vomit. Papa Bear began to turn red in the face under his fur. He went to the table to look at the bowls of porridge. All three were still intact except for one strange feature: an impression of a single print driven deep into each one.

“Someone stuck their finger into my porridge!” Papa Bear fumed.

Mama Bear looked into her bowl. “Someone stuck their fin…” she began.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Papa said, cutting her off.

Baby Bear studied his for a moment. “I’m not eating that now,” he said as he pointed at it. “I don’t know where that hand has been.”

Just then there was a loud thump up the stairs. All three jerked their heads in the direction of the sound. They scrambled up the steps in haste. To their great and everlasting surprise, there was another human child in the bedroom, sitting primly in the middle of Baby Bear’s bed with a magazine in her lap. Papa Bear put his hands on his hips. The little girl looked up at them.

“Yo,” was her only word as she gave a nod of her head toward them. She returned her attention to the magazine.

“Who are you?!” Papa Bear shouted.

“Mouldysocks,” the girl answered. “You were pretty mean to my twin sister yesterday.” She turned the page of the magazine. “What kind of garbage is this?” she asked as she held it up to them. The centerfold revealed a princess lying naked atop a pile of mattresses with a pea sitting in her belly button.

“Baby Bear!” Mama yelled in shock.

“It belongs to Dad!” he yelled back as pointed an accusing finger at his father.

Mama Bear turned her look of shock to her husband. He gave his wife a glance and a nervous smile then turned to his son. He reached forward and grasped his arm firmly in one paw.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he said to the young bear through gritted teeth.

“What are you doing in our house?” Mama Bear asked Mouldysocks.

Mouldysocks tossed the magazine aside and took a nail file from the nightstand. “Your door was open,” she answered as she rasped her black nails down to the quick.

Mama Bear gave Papa a quick slap. “I told you we should have locked the door!”

“This is a nice place you rugs got here,” Mouldysocks said. “Think I’ll stay awhile.” She flopped herself down on her side and closed her eyes.

“You can’t stay here!” Baby Bear spouted. “That’s my bed.”

“I saw a couch downstairs,” Mouldysocks answered, her eyes still closed. “You’ll fit on it.”

Suddenly Papa Bear let out a ferocious roar.

“That supposed scare me?” the child asked in response.

“Yes it is,” he replied angrily.

Mouldysocks opened her eyes and turned her head toward the three of them. “You bears eat porridge. Who ever heard of a vegan bear? That kind of tells me that the three of you are nothing but milquetoasts. ” And with that she closed her eyes again.

Later that night, a heavenly aroma drifted through the kitchen. Mama Bear threw out all of the porridge in the house. Papa and Baby sat at the table cutting jokes after an especially wonderful dinner. Who would have thought that a child named Mouldysocks would have barbecued so nicely?

 

Autumn Leaves

A flutter in the air
Bronze on sapphire
Spinning lazily earthward
The wind holds it aloft
For but a moment longer
So that it may see
For the final time
What height it once beheld
As it dangled precariously
From the wooden fingertips
	Yanked loose when its grip weakened
A trinket robbed from the old knotty lady
			But she knows better
				There will be more bobbles
					More pendants of jade
		Though for a time the fashion will be
	To stand stark naked
And wait to be clothed 
In crystalline cotton
	But it will be some time
		Until that happens
			Only when her trinkets 
				Have all gone away
					And until that day
				She knows
			That her beauty
		Has been taken
	Only to arrive
Just a little later
When the sky is grey
	When she is bare
		When 
			She
				Is
					Bare…

Lunar Eclipse

There's a man in my village
He says he owns the moon
He stays awake all night
And sleeps until afternoon

They say the man is crazy
He's such a loony loon
He claims that he can make
Shadows on the moon

I couldn't believe it
My mind wouldn't grab it
Until he lifted his hand
And made a little rabbit

I laughed till I burst
I thought it rather funny
To look up at the moon
And see a shadow bunny

The lunatic he made
Throughout the eclipse
Ghostly and uncanny things
All with his fingertips

The moon was insulted
He turned copper dark
For upon his snowy face
The lunatic's shadows larked

And there his colour stayed
Perhaps an hour or so
And the lunatic ranted
Until his moon began to glow

So the man lifted his hands
As the lunar edge reappeared
He made more silhouettes
Until moonset finally neared

And as he sank into the ground
We bade the moon goodbye
And the lunatic went sane
In the twinkling of an eye

The Unicorn in Autumn

Darkling armies stand awe-hushed
Hearing rumours and whispers
Tired arms raised skyward
Stark, growing bare
Pleading that it not be so
Their pride stripped
As rusting badges fall,
Vapour engulfing their crooked feet
Little swirls between their naked toes
Cold like Neptune’s embrace
Drowning the hoar crusted blades
Brittle, un-tempered
No fire to steel them
Fractured underfoot
As the mists are stirred
By a passing entity
In white mourning raiment
A fleeing apparition
Hounded by wolves of winter
His hair like gossamer floss
Flowing in unfelt breezes
Holding his sabre aloft
Useless, hopeless
Blind eyes and deaf ears
His heart is crushed
Unseen forces press around
Frost has conquered him.
Thus begins his trek
Heaving sighs and streaming tears
Feeling the urge of desperate climes
The king is dethroned
Compelled to reign elsewhere
For a season,
His throne ever moving
To places where birds flee,
Until beckoned from exile
At the cry of abandoned seeds
He will return
Commanding the dawn
And raising the armies from the dead.