A Short Story about hell, an ex girlfriend and an iphone

In Hell With My Ex – But There’s An App  For That

Part One.

 

Sometimes, there’s nothing left but the pain.

 

I think I died yesterday, I’m not sure…but I remember this sharp sting at the back of my neck, and the voice of someone I knew. However, what I did know was that where I was once I opened my eyes wasn’t home. This new place was different to what I imagined…the air felt empty, in that there wasn’t any…no fire or brimstone. I think this is what the vacuum of space feels like. The landscape was vast – as far as my eye could see. Although, there was only land in front of me…the beaten road of black stone I stood on, and the eerie looking town or village at the end of its kilometer stretch. From what I could make out from this distance, its skyline was like that of every ghost town ever conceived for television. Either side of that, just empty grey…like an incomplete thought of a tired mind. I believe it to be night…but can’t be sure, it’s not a sky I recognize. Just more strange tones of blandness with blemishes of black seeping through.

 

I’ve been standing here aimlessly in what I’m assuming was on my body when whatever it was killed me. Black shoes, my favourite pair of slim fit blue jeans, singlet, and a white shirt only half tucked in, full of the creases of the unloved and homeless – as my mum would say to me growing up. I’d guess ten minutes passed without me moving an inch, not so sure what I’m scared of…probably that this isn’t heaven, and I’d have to confront the idea that I’m not the ‘good’ person I believe I am…was. Maybe I should have given my local vagabond some more of my loose change, I didn’t need it. No, he’d just of used it to buy more alcohol or cigarettes, if he was really even homeless…’Shhh that’s the kind of thinking that probably got you down here – idiot’.

 

Eventually, I calmed my active mind enough to formulate the necessary motor skills to walk forward. To where I could feel, I deserved to be. It was only after a few hundred meters of the loneliest stroll my mortal self could never of conceived, that I heard it. A sound that made my stomach clench violently, like trying to vomit when you’re already empty. It was beyond anything I’d heard before, I can only describe it as the collective, elongated screams of the people you love. But, I didn’t know these voices…yet it felt like hearing them be hacked to death in front of me. I couldn’t walk anymore, the sound was crippling, I felt blood trickle from my ear canal – It felled me to my knees. Adrenaline was rushing through my body as I cried the saddest tears I didn’t understand. This just kept going on and on, I realised that it wouldn’t stop and begged my heart to give up.

 

Sometimes, there’s nothing left but pain.

 

-“ Bonjour Monsieur” – I felt a small hand touch mine. It was warm and soft like a child’s. It told me to stand up and suddenly I could. I turned to look at this person, and was taken struck by the design of his features, he spoke again, telling me his name in a light jovial voice that muted the noise and the pain. “ Je m’appelle George”. George was about 5ft 5 in height, and black hair styled into what a child who stole his father’s hair gel, might think was a smart adult look. Although dressed in a sophisticated, fitted, light grey tweed blazer, and trousers to match. The bright yellow V-neck jumper of home crafted patterns, lowered his tone, to one matching the hopeful smile on his special face. His cumbersome, faded brown brief case was tightly gripped in the hand not touching mine. Both it, and the presidential blue tie resting securely on his clean white shirt, did a lot to balance his appearance. Half child looking for play at nursery, half concerned passer-by in between office meetings. His face, were most of my attention kept returning – was clearly that of someone with downs syndrome; the scrunched up features, cheeks coloured red with mischief, and the A typical thick neck of an Olympic wrestler.

 

He helped me to my feet, I went to brush myself clean, but there was no evidence I’d been laying in fetal position on the stone road. As I wondered briefly, about how many other souls had walked this path before me, I all but forgot the gut wrenching pain I was just in. The grinning stranger just kept looking at me like I was a lost puppy he’d found in the park.

 

-“Who are you?” I asked him calmly, while fighting this peculiar compulsion to hug him tightly.

-“My name is George, and I’m an angel.” Intuitively, I knew this to be true.

-“ You speak English?”

-“Yes, we speak all the languages of your earth.” He spoke those words without a tone or mannerism that would imply the diminished faculties I would expect. “I personally prefer French, but you don’t think your French is as good as it used to be.” I just nodded obediently without picking up the real meaning of his words. He continued, “You are in hell but only at the start, the spirits down here call it the demon’s tail. The pain you were hearing and feeling was the voices of all the people you’ve hurt, other’s experience different things on the demon’s tail, but guilt is your ‘self harm’. I didn’t know how to respond, his insights were swift and cutting like a blade. He reminded me of the voice in my head that finds me in the night. The one that’s become a bedtime story of wants and hurts.

-“What’s that town at the end of the road” I asked to avoid thinking anymore about the home and life I’d lost.

-“Nowhere you want to be Alpha, but somewhere Nusodar of The Regrets wants to take you.”

-“Who?”

-“Him.” George said pointing away from the stone path to a pale-headed figure in all black. It had the stature of a man, but even from the fifty-meter distance it was currently at, the lazy, struggle-ridden movements towards us, felt simultaneously inhuman yet palpably depressed. His approach ominous; fear, and wanting salvation soaked my bones. I hadn’t felt anything like it, since the long car journey’s home from terrible parents evenings with my father.

 

Sometimes there’s nothing left but pain.

 

“Don’t worry yet.” He said sympathetically, before passing me my iPhone.

-“How’s this going to help?” I whisper, as my spirit deflated into thoughts of what’s to come.

-“Do you want to get out of here?” I didn’t respond…I knew the answer I wanted to give, but for some reason it felt lodged in my throat. “You have to say it or I can’t help you.” As he spoke those words his expression changed, no longer was it one pleased to see me. I felt the weight of this moment press me, and I forced the word out uncomfortably.

-“Yes.”

-“Good, because there’s an app for that” the happiness returning to his face like the beaming rush of the amused. “Open the app called ‘Tri-force’”, I did. “You’ll see that there are three boxes, each represents the three stages of ascent from hell. Tap on the first one.” As I followed George’s instructions, I couldn’t help but notice that the one he called Nusodar, was still ambling towards me. At this closer distance, I could see the unnerving expression on its hairless and deeply wrinkled face. There was sorrow and hardship clung to it like the ancient guilt of a retired executioner. My pulse rate speed up as my hands started to sweat, but I trusted George like a dear friend from childhood, so I focused on his gentle voice. “You see, now you have three choices.” He said, as we both stared intently at the phone in my hand.

-“I don’t understand, what does ‘X past, present or future’ mean?”

-“It means my little friend, that your first trial is to choose who you want to confront. An ex girlfriend from your past, present of future?”

-“Future? I’m pretty sure I’m dead.”

-“There are many possible paths, and this, your death – is just one, selecting that box will allow you to experience one of them.” George said casually, as if they were the rules some popular child’s game.

-“What about that thing in black coming for me?”

-“Alpha, don’t worry George is here, plus when you’re in the trial, Nusodar of The Regrets can’t interfere.”

-“Do you have to say that whole title every time?”

-”Definitely, it really doesn’t like abbreviations.” The idea that this foreboding entity could be in an even worse mood, than his current expression and posture suggested, was terrifying. So, I started thinking on my choices. My heart began beating to the rhythm of my lost loves, pounding to the feel of the woman I left in death, and resonating the warmth of experiences reserved for my un-lived mortal selves. I knew who I wanted to see…

-“I’ve decided”

-“Excellent, tap your choice and enter the door that will appear.” I did, and instantly a large oak wood door materialized. It had these words scorched into it,

 

‘The After Life is,

Kinematics & Cessation

This, is After Life.’

 

They sounded very familiar, but aware as I was of how close the colourless thing in black was getting; I didn’t dwell on it, simply just turned the cold metallic doorknob and walked into a dimly lit room I recognized instantly. There she was.

 

Sometimes, there’s nothing left but pain.

 

-“What do you want Alpha?” Her voice stated, as she stood with her back to me. She posed stubbornly beside the computer that faced the window. She was wearing her cherished baggy blue hoodie, the one from her first dance group –‘Boy Blue’. The jeans she wore continued her infamous loose fitting style, with those almost comically small feet poking out from beneath the enveloping boot cuts. I’d forgotten just how short she was.

-“I Just want to talk to you Clo.” I said more timidly than intended. Maybe I was still taken aback by the feeling of being in her bedroom of her parent’s house again. The doubled bed where we watched endless episodes of friends, the home PC where I would copy the latest magic system album onto my iPod, and the wardrobe I would watch her get dressed at, before her Saturday morning class teaching ballet. ‘Those kids are so lucky’ I would think to myself, as I lay cocooned in her doublet-quilted duvet. But those pleasant memories are double edged…with each living long enough to become villainous.

-“You’re so f***ing annoying, I blocked you, your friends, and all your brothers from Facebook, then when I saw you working at the same fitness first I taught at, I changed jobs. Isn’t that clear enough?! I don’t even want to look at your face!” She yelled, all still while having her back to me, her head never turning away from the window that looked out to the driveway.

-“Yeah, but why? Why are you actin like a crazy b****? It’s been literally 10 years, how can you still have feelings for me?? Don’t say you don’t, coz you obviously do if you can’t even look me in the eye. Or, you really are just insane.” I voiced in exasperation.

-“urrrgh, but why do you still want to talk to me?? I obviously don’t want you in my life, so why the hell do you still want to be in it?? Only a crazy person wants to be friends with someone who hates them.”

-“But why do you f***ing hate me so much? What the F*** did I do? Yeah so I dumped you? And what?! Did I cheat on you? No! Did I F*** your best friend, No!”

-”BUT ALPHA, WHY DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE MY FRIEND?!” She repeated her sentiment vehemently. However, this time it penetrated my almost uncontrollable impulse to speak over her. The feeling was a strange yet familiar sting. I knew the answer, and always have. I hate the idea of someone not liking me…especially when I don’t know why. Do I have a compulsive need for people to like me? I’ve never thought so, but maybe this says different. Just then, I felt words escape my mouth on their own.

-“I’m a good person…why don’t you see that Clo…?”

-“You mean good like when you hit me…?”

 

Sometimes, there’s nothing left but pain.

 

To Be Continued…

By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Deep With You-Part two: Green Eyes

Click For Part One – incase you haven’t read it!

The session continues…

Our two lovers, still within the throes of passion, continued burning through the lust that evaporated off them. The steam their beating bodies produced, condensed onto the wood and glossed paperback surfaces Anissa’s slender stomach was pressed on. Drayke was in control now; her face turned to the side in a futile attempt to watch him as he worked, her back gently arched – lumbar muscles contracting with beautiful tone. Her ass elevated up slightly off the desk, which, despite its fullness, was being completely suppressed by his powerful hands – no movement allowed if not by his design. So rare was it for her to submit to him, he took special pleasure from such primal positioning.

“Are you ready?” He questioned, as though not already making the warm opening between her squirming legs pulse with each stroke. The way he expanded her soft entrance with slow pelvic movements, made her crazy with heat – she moaned, wanting. Knowing what was to come, she responds with a look of cautious appetite.

“Yes…” Drayke filled his palms with the flesh of her posterior, gripping her hard enough to hurt; the deep relentless pounding of her wet intimacy began simultaneously. The sensations he could feel around and along the length of it, where driving him to addiction and he mercilessly drove every inch of himself into her repeatedly. His stamina almost endless, Anissa wasn’t sure how much more she could withstand. However, she loved the duality of internal ache and climax perpetuating pleasure. The tingling sensations were like wild static charges frivolously erupting from the brief spaces between them. “Don’t stop! Deeper! Harder!” She screamed in complete defiance of the authoritative force behind each of his thrusts. Drayke knew from how rash her breathing had become, and the way she was struggling to keep herself on her toes, that she was close to another orgasm. Although, his pride did take exception to the ability she had – unlike all others, to tolerate his full length, breadth, and sexual aggression, his need to please her thoroughly came before his own ego. And knowing every erogenous crevasse on her body, he slowed down his tempo, and switched tactics.

Releasing her blood warm left cheek from the archaic grip of one hand, while keeping one enslaved in the other, his change in pace had brought her back from the edge. Now she was staring over the cliff face, starving for the explosion of gratification that the climactic fall would bring. Nevertheless, Drayke held her back from it; her private parts were weeping and trembling – imploring him with every deliberate entry. Left hand, channeling desire into his mind by manipulating it’s voluptuous captive into revealing more…His other hand scheming to gratify her naughtiest pleasures, found it’s thumb roaming – she knew it’s destination. Thus presenting it to him obediently and unashamed, waiting impatiently, coveting the multiple sensations. He proceeded to satiate every need welling up inside her as vigorously and completely as she could handle, causing her fatigued spirit to helplessly scream in ecstasy. Finally, he let her fall – her body crashing into the aftermath of desires. Seeking his own completion, he unloaded his lust; their primeval tones synced and echoed erotically through the aisles of this large room of learning. Their breathing gently returned to normal as he kept himself inside until she went still.

Just outside…

“For God sake they’re at it again…” One of the men from the General Support Staff says to his female colleague – who can’t help but laugh childishly as they walk past the Star Chart Observatory entrance, on their way to the Chamber of Rest and Recreation. In another room two tiers up, a far more important conversation was taking place. Dr. Jasmine Samoy was having a holographic video communication with one of a party of three corporate grade individuals, who’d invested heavily into the voyage to Slaver’s Moon. Her office was sparse, clean, and clutter free, just like the plain unbranded attire she wore on her lightly tanned skin. Most paper materials had ceased production after the global blight of 2050 ravished Earth I plant life. Any wood based products found in the solar system now came from Earth II and only to those with very deep pockets. Surrounded by bespoke, pale yellow coloured walls, she sat, legs crossed, on her slender aluminium stool as the conversation unfolded.

“Doctor, have you been able to verify the origins of the sample we sent you?” the voice says impatiently through the static interference.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you before, we must be travelling close to a solar storm. Yes I have Sir, but the results are unexpected. I would like a few more days to retest the sample against the ‘Nouveux’ elements.”

“Impossible Doctor, my associates and I have to report your findings back to the president of Black Tech industries tomorrow morning in person.”

“I understand that Sir, but I am putting my career at risk just by possessing this sample. If the Captain knew I had it on board, let alone the real reason we were going to Omega Seven, he’d probably stick me in a cell.” Dr. Samoy’s tone was elevated and laced with genuine fear of the multitude of potential consequences that lay ahead.

“Didn’t you say that you’d be able to handle him?” Dr. Samoy paused… “Listen, it’s too late for cold feet, our time is fast approaching, and we all have to be ready for what Black Tech are going to do with Slaver’s Moon.” Dr. Samoy knew this to be true, and narrowed her focus away from the doubts and towards what was necessary.

“I understand Sir, it will be taken care of.”

“Good, I’ll let you get back to work, send me a holocom transmission of your final report on the organism within the hour.” Before he could click, the holocom closed, Dr. Samoy quickly speaks,

“Father, one more thing – do you have any objections with me removing Princess Anissa from the situation?” Her father, Vincent Samoy – galactic entrepreneur and former Earth II government official, responds cautiously…

If it doesn’t affect the mission, deal with her anyway you see fit.”

Captain Drayke D. Hamilton’s vessel, The Trafalgar 7 – built from the finest interplanetary alloys, glided through the darkness of space, navigating fringe science like it were the bedrock of it’s existence – neared it’s destination. Unbeknown to both, there was a deep sickness growing within its vast interiors. A mutinous affliction eating away at all facets of engineering aboard the ship, and at its centre, a once mild-mannered woman stood, the conductress in front of her ensemble of dissenting voices and disgruntled characters. From here – Chamber 207e, she garnered the infection.

“You’ve all seen the way she favours him! We all know what they get up to in the Captain’s private quarters!”

The gathered white coats and hard hats roar in agreement.

Not even the decency to keep their relationship professional in front of the crew, kissing on the bridge like they’re the main characters of some tacky sci-fi erotica! But I ask you? When was the last time any of you kissed your loved ones?! Didn’t the Princess say that this would be a simple six-month diplomatic voyage? But now, I’ve been told by the only person who deserves your respect and loyalty – that when we’re on Slaver’s Moon, the Captain will impose a complete blackout on holocom transmissions! And whose idea is that?? His royal concubine’s!”

Groans of derision saturate the air.

She is on this ship to look out for our best interest! The interests of her hand-picked, non-military crew. But no…she’s up there, servicing the Captain with the same mouth she needs to be sanctioning the dim-witted mercenaries when they abuse you, Tom, for having a stutter, or sexually assault you, Jane! In this room, we have some of the highest intellects on Earth II, yet we’re treated like 19th century mineworkers! WITHOUT US! THE SHIP GOES NOWHERE!“ She screamed, the woman’s face red with the design of anger as her once blonde hair thrashed wildly around, it’s new dark sullen tones of brunette and purple danced in the indistinct fluorescent lights as she gesticulated frantically.

The horde of once civilized workers fed off her vehement protestations, yelling back angrily in affirmation of her message. If the sound could escape these walls, then civil war they would have signalled.

With her concert of manipulation completed, the conductress left the engineering tiers to return to her room. At the same time, far away in their own private circle of reflection and deduction, Drayke and Anissa discuss the mission and the progress of their journey towards it.

“How much longer until we arrive?” She says, as her mind wanders back and forth from focus – still having flashbacks to their session in the Observatory.

“The Solar storm is a bit of a nuisance, but Trafalgar can handle it. We’ll increase our velocity once we’re passed this system of planets.”

“How long Dray?”

“Ten days” he answers avoiding eye contact. Anissa was the only woman able to bring out such boyish guilt from the Captain.

“You said it would only be a couple more days, and that’s what I told my crew.”

“Your crew? I thought I was the Captain”

“Maybe when I’m not wearing underwear”

“Funny – but I’ve told you to stop thinking of the crew as your personal responsibility, you treat them like they’re your own kids.”

“I can’t help it…anyway, I don’t want to have this argument with you again. Just give me some good news I can tell the ship.” As concerned as he was about this maternal sense of hers, it was also one of her more enchantingly softening traits. It made him want to say the three words to her he’d caged inside his chest.

“Tell them that they’ll get an extra 100MGs for each extra day that we’re overdue.”

“Can you afford to do that?”

“No, but our investors can”

“I don’t think they’ll be happy with the cost of this voyage increasing again before we’ve even arrived”

“They’ll be happy with what I tell them to be happy with.” He responds, a layer of disdain palpable in his words, as if recalling an unpleasant history with one or more of them.

“And you?” Drayke swiftly changes the subject.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say once we arrive? The people of Omega are not known for their empathy…”

“I’ve been thinking about it more and more the closer we get, but it’s nothing I’m not used to – hostile negotiations are my specialty,” she says with an assurance born from the many power-obsessed dictators she’s verbally wrestled away from office and country. However, the situation they were moving towards was mutating rapidly into one unrecognisable from the mission brief they’d received upon departure.

“I know they are,” he replies with a flirtatious smile. “But, when dealing with the Omegians, I find preparing for the worst becomes prerequisite.”

“Yes I can tell from the charming group of mercenaries you’ve brought along.”

Drayke and Anissa continued their discussion for a further hour, sitting close and taking in enough pheromones to propagate attention-stealing affections. Despite this, their un-clarified relationship status took a back seat to the importance and responsibility of the task.

Far beneath them, the wheels of fate turned continuously, and one of its cogs was circling at the same pace our conductress was walking, heading patiently towards her residence. Once there she noticed the sliding door was already unlocked. Unfazed, she slid it across and walked in. Inside, the room was set to a brighter lighting arrangement than she’d left it. Knowing what this meant she speaks out into the room.

“Already making yourself at home I see” In response, a women steps out from the bathroom, jet black hair, long and heavy with moisture. Her face was smiling in expectancy, the rest of her body taut from the fresh chill of conditioned air flowing around them. She steps forward, exposed parts moving accordingly, and says.

“Blaise, how did it go?” the conductress always loved it when she said her name; there was a tone to it that suggested a hidden sentiment behind the formalness. The naked woman before her, though unassuming in her appeal, had found a way to lure out parts of her she never knew existed. Unlike the immature male suitors, she had during her formative years in a New England suburb. Blaise, missing the strength of character she’d just displayed to over fifty people, responds sheepishly.

“It went well babe” the words, blushing out of her. She was shorter than her lover, and was never more aware of this than when giving a report back to her. She was wearing the white and black engineering department uniform of overcoat, one piece and sturdy shoe, she played with the buttons on it subconsciously as she continued. “They’re definitely with us, the bit about the Captain not allowing holocom transmissions was a just perfect, and they behaved exactly like you said they would.”

“Of course they did, have I ever lead you wrong, Blaise?”

“Never babe, but…when are we going to go to the next stage of the plan? If we leave it too long, some of them might find out that not everything I’ve been saying is the truth…”

“Don’t worry about that for now, I’ll let you know when the time is right “

“Okay then, but I should probably go back to work though, it’s still a couple of hours before lunch and need to lead from the front.”

“Oh definitely, I don’t like slackers. However, before you go, can you help me get dressed?” the chill in the air suddenly changes to something warmer, something seductive. Blaise, pleased to no longer have to wait to touch her replies,

“Is it the purple underwear the Doctor is wearing today?”

To be continued

 Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh

Link To Part 3


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Episode One of my ‘Alpha Stories’ Video Blog – Questions & Competition

Ps Stay tuned until the end to see the exclusive reveal of The Atheist’s BRAND NEW 2nd Ed front cover designs!

Who wants to be a character in my next short story installment?

Got a very cool competition for you guys & gals!

Text/private message or comment with any question you have regarding me, my writing, the creative process or anything insightful, and I will do a video blog answering them all!

The person with the best question will become a character in one of my next short story installments!

I’m a very honest and open person, so don’t feel shy to ask me anything!

Deadline for questions is this sunday night. Can’t wait to start creating! (happy face)

An introduction into the world of my new hero and future novel

I am in the very early stages of creating the world of possibly my next novel and its main protagonist. So I just wanted to give you guys an exciting introduction into both! Please let me know what you think of the character and the potential story that could spawn from this introductory chapter.

The Chronicles of Aron Sherapova: The Ties That Bind

sherapova
Character designs drawn by Vinh Nguyen

 

The Leviathan Order Of Five – watching, smirking, and absorbing from their perched views, waited for her journey’s end to come.

Below…

Aron Sherapova was screaming in a blind rage at the evil incarnate that stood before her; steel blade in one hand, and her 5-year-old son in the other, dangling from his neck – which through a mother’s eyes, looked frightfully brittle in the murderous man’s callus grip. She let him know that threatening her child’s life would be his final act on this earth. His soft little face stared back bleakly at her, with no understanding of what was about to happen to him – he just cried helpless tears of an infant lost, hoping to be saved into his mother’s arms, rescued from the danger like she did on those nights that he awoke from dreams terrified. She fought back the uncontrollable weeping from pouring out of her, by feeding the rage that was slowly making her nuclear with blood lust. With sweat dripping from her face and the look of death itself in her eyes, she promised to claim his life with her own bare hands.

There was another person involved in this sadistic game, a seated, quiet, and aged man, tentatively placed to the left of the maniacally laughing monster in front of her. She didn’t recognize him, a withered man, bearded with cracks of tiredness littering his stone expression. He was facing her, but his attention seemed to pass through her, and to the lifeless walls that surrounded them. Aron had already assessed the damp poorly lit room for exits, weapons and tactical advantage, however, it was becoming more and more saturated in the smell of blood, and she could not discern from where. The smell reached up her nose and into the back of her mouth, the subtle taste of metallic rust trickled down her throat with every nervous swallow of spit. Her attempts at deducing its origin were being obstructed by the swearing, and spat questions he hurled at her. All animated with the insanity life times of perpetual ruin brings, but to earth’s legend, and once ‘Guardian of Time’, Aron Sherapova the only question that mattered was whose violence would determine the outcome of the unfolding events?

ISAAC, I’m going to give you one last chance to put Manu down…”

“Put him down?! Why? He’s mine as much as he is yours, maybe more so…plus he likes playing hostage with his father – don’t you son?”

“You’re not his father! I fucking swear to God that I’m going to kill everyone you ever loved Isaac.”

“Me first.”

Aron screamed horrifically for her boy’s life, as though hoping that the desperation in her voice could somehow shatter the blade descending onto her weeping son’s chest…

 

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER

The woman who would be heroin and protector of all things in times to come, was for now, just beginning another day in her somewhat ordinary life.

“I’m going to be late for my client!” It was 7am and Aron was rushing out of her flat in Hackney, which she shared with two other housemates. The spring weather was just beginning to permeate through the atmosphere and the refreshing feeling of a new dawn was cloaking her troubles nicely. Until, she checked her phone – sliding her figures impatiently across the screen she discovered three messages. The first;

whatsapp

Aron just kissed her teeth thinking about how many times she’s told him that Derek is bad news, and that he’ll eventually break his fragile hipster heart. The second a text message from NatWest – ‘You have gone over your agreed limit, please address the balance on your account by 3pm to avoid any un-arranged overdraft fees.’

This was already the second time this month that she’d gone over her account’s limit, and with her gym rent due in a week, it was definitely not going to be the last. The third;

whatsapp2

This made her stop dead in the middle of the pavement, only meters from her bus stop. ‘This woman was haggling for a reduced rate like I’m selling fish at a market, talking about how she’s desperate to look great for her wedding, but now she’s already missed the first two sessions of the block!’ She thought to herself, oblivious that the hair now in her face and mouth had been blown there by her bus speeding past. Thankfully, for her, she no longer had the same time constraints around her morning. She didn’t bother replying, spat the hair out of her mouth in contempt and clicked the phone shut, still cursing Becky, and the fact that she had to wake up earlier than necessary under her breath as she strolled towards the bus stop.

When Aron arrived at First Fitness – a company she always felt had delusions of grandeur, she was greeted by one of her least favoured colleagues. This individual’s name was Terrence, and everything from the low hang of his tracksuit bottoms, forever-creased Personal Training t-shirt, and tendency to comment on her body rubbed her the wrong way. Occasionally, she would even daydream about kicking him over a rowing machine. However, in real life she’d never once struck someone for pleasure – play fighting with men twice her size excluded of course. Aron Sherapova as far as she could remember had always spent her spare time playing sports with older boys; she found most of the girls and boys of her age far too fragile. The six-inch ever-present, yet slightly faded scar on her forearm was a reminder of those brutally effervescent days.

After her forced ‘hi, how are you’ to Terrence, and an impotent ‘fine’ response from him, she made her way downstairs towards the staff room. Aron only briefly shifted her focus from her destination, to smile at the gym members she thought were polite and serious about their training. Lazy people always reminded her of the introverted room-mate at the orphanage; who’s company, poor hygiene and incessant complaining she’d endured for years – and thus were shunned from her sphere of acknowledgment, unless she was being paid to do so. In that circumstance, she could feign interest like a world-class lady of leisure.

She opens the staff room door.

“Mon!” Aron shouts gleefully.

“Hey my pretty,” Monique says, with a smile honest and large enough to bring light to the darkest room. Aron sits beside her closest friend, and hugs her firmly as though trying to imprint her affections directly onto Monique’s body. Monique feels the strength of her embrace and asks, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just the same old stuff; rent, clients cancelling sessions and a narcissistic house mate who can’t keep his legs closed, or is it butt cheeks?”

“Arrgh, Don’t be nasty” Monique says with a begrudging laugh rattling around in her throat. “Oh yeah, was going to text you last night but, fell asleep swooning over Michael B Jordan, how did therapy go?

“It was okay,” she replies with a pause of uncertainty.

“Do you think he’ll be able to help you remember?”

“No one else has so far, but apparently he has some special way of recovering subjugated repressed memories as he calls it. Sounds like expensive rubbish to me, but I’ve got another appointment at the Leviathan Community Clinic today at 2pm, so lets see.”

“You’re so incredible Ronny. To go through what you have and not be in jail or worse is amazing. Honestly, I hope that if you ever remember your life before that time, it was just a normal beautiful one. You really deserve it.”

“Aww thanks hun; it means a lot to me you saying that.”

“I really mean it, and I know that there are wonderful things in store for you in the future. Maybe even that new PT Sam…”

“Who?”

“You’ll see, I think you two will get along”

Hours pass, in typical fashion – the gym is a rich sea of semi lost individuals hoping to find a system of cardio based effort that will make them thinner than they are. Some exercise professional, navigating those waters as sharks attracted to the scent of misguided sweat and effort, hoping to feed on the insecurities. While others, as coast guards hoping to rescue the unfortunate ones, those seemingly and haplessly drowning in the almost infinite ways to exercise one’s body. Aron, being one of the latter is looking to pick up some new clients during her small reprieves between sessions and teaching classes. However, this was a day where normality of routine was not going to last.

Before it was time for her usual midday power lifting session, her attention was drawn to the ‘front of house’ reception area. In her hawk like periphery vision, she saw the familiar gesticulations of two people arguing. The sounds of their raised voices immediately followed, Aron’s senses were far more attuned to violence than most women, or men of her demographic and her adrenaline began flowing. She saw that the person working at reception was the frail mannered Jessica. Smartly dressed and disarmingly beautiful she may have been, but that was the only situational disarmament her presence was capable of. A true ornament of the corporate hiring practices – brittle and useless. Aron moved towards them instinctively, they were two men dressed like estate agents arguing about, what seemed to Aron’s discerning mind, one person ‘stealing’ the other’s parking spot. Another thing that became clearer as she calmly approached like an animal confident in her camouflage, a concealment born of the localised focus of fight or flight instincts between two posturing males. Is that the taller man with dense fiery orange hair, freckles, and the unique fair-skinned beauty of a mixed raced instagram sensation, was not the aggressor. In fact, the other slightly shorter, less broad-shouldered male was barely holding on to his faculties, as he vomited out the kind of foul language you’d expect in the locker room of the most intellectually diminished Sunday league football team. The amber-haired man was trying to defuse the situation to no avail. Then suddenly recognising that moment before a wild barking dog mauls flesh from bone, Aron explodes forward – discarding the ground beneath her plantar flexed Nike trainers nonchalantly. The force generated by her powerfully sculpted thighs places her almost instantly between the crazed man’s fist and his target – the other gentleman’s perfectly sculpted jaw. Everyone, inside or outside the gym had now stopped what they were doing to observe the commotion, witnessing in silent shock as Aron took the full force of the punch to the side of her face.

After a few awkward seconds, the irrational individual that had just assaulted a First Fitness member of staff appeared immediately sobered up. Like the realisation, that he’d struck a woman had poured ice-cold water over his rage. However, he could have been forgiven for thinking otherwise, as Aron had barely even taken a backward step upon impact, she absorbed his blow like a young Mike Tyson. It would have been very unnerving to anyone not too shocked by the incident to notice, but that was no one, and it went unseen.

“Hey miss are you alright?” the man who’d just been protected by Aron spoke, tapping her on the back of her right shoulder. She didn’t respond straight away. ”I can’t believe you hit a woman! That’s disgusting.” He continued, with a corral of voices in the background agreeing with him. The now neutered animal, stuttered nervously in his response.

“I didn’t mean too, where the hell did she even come from? I swear I wouldn’t fucking hit a chic!” Aron, brushing a portion of her thick long hair from her face, turns to look at the man directly and states clearly,

“You need to leave now.” With almost the whole gym watching, he doesn’t utter a word, instead carries his shame with him as he leaves the premises, tail between his legs.

With the main instigator gone, the crowd disperses like insects at the sight of a raised heel. Jessica was still standing behind the counter in all her inept glory, she watched as Aron turned towards the worried figure in shirt and blazer. When they locked eyes, a world of dark brown and green tinted hazel collided, causing a chain reaction of micro expression in both their flushed faces. Then Aron, felt the spark of something life-altering in grandeur within her flicker as he placed his hand on her shoulder, asking again ‘if she was unhurt’. She smiled softly, it was a slightly awkward movement of lips, as unguarded dainty smiles were unfamiliar currency to her. Aron’s response though, was more typical of her boyish character, “Course I am, he punches like a girl.”

“That’s funny,” he says laughing honestly. Remembering her employee duties she says,

“Anyway, sorry about that sir, do you want to make an official complaint about that member’s behaviour?”

“Nah don’t worry about all that, I have to get back to work anyway, but I would like to get your name please?” He says trying not to sound like an opportunist.

“Of course, take my business card” She picks one out from the PT board by the wall near Jessica, and doing her best not to let on how attracted she was to this polite well spoken man, she places it coolly in his hands. He begins leaving, and just as he is about to disappear into the realm of will he, won’t he call me, she breaks decorum and shouts, “What’s you’re name then?!” Spinning around briskly, he responds with equal energy,

“Isaac.”

To be continued

 By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

FIRST LOOK- The teaser for my novel’s official book trailer is here!

The Atheist

CREDITS

Executive Producer- Alpha Cauwenbergh

Director – Chidozie Ehirim

Director of Photography – Kaan Abdullah

Assistant D.O.P – Amelia Hallsworth

Editor – Joan Farre

Cedou Cauwenbergh as Julian

Christopher – Sherwood as Father Franz Bachinger

Tyler Fayose as François

Morgane Lloyd-Morris as Sister Aeryn-Sun

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