Yeah

Finally being able to envisage someone in a boyfriend capacity again is a bloody good feeling:

Realising that you would happily share your bed with them and it would feel completely comfortable.
Imagining even the small things in life becoming enriched because of their company.
Having the faith restored not only in yourself, but in the belief that there are people out there who get you.

Yeah.

:)

Chilled

Cold. Dead. Seeping red. Just how he liked them. The branches stripped bare of foliage threatened to snap overhead. Reduced to pathetic fragile twigs by the season. The wind knifed also at his clothes and face but the down of his jacket and the oversized ski mask he wore made a mockery of its efforts. White as anything, the thick snow made for the perfect canvas - what lay before him was art simple and pure. He smiled down at the beauty of it in its entirety. The vibrant colour, the delightful carnage. He wet his lips and took one last lingering look at the scene.

It began to snow heavily as he trudged away, inspired.

///

"He's got no conscience. He's got none. None." the elderly woman turned her face to gaze out of through the window. She was seated in her rocking chair in her cabin in the woods. Visitors didn't come often. She'd lost her social grace.

"Mrs Matthews... Mrs Matthews?" A concerned voice tried in vain to capture her attention.

Her hands started working on the embroidery in her lap but still she looked off into the distance.

"When did you last see your son?"

"...he was such a clever boy. So good at pretending. But he never... he didn't really feel things." Vapour trailed after each word.

Her visitor sighed. "Thank you for your time, Mrs Matthews."

After a short while he threw some wood in the hearth and got it going. Then left.

He wet his lips and smiled as he walked out the door of his senile mother's lonely cabin; she would be no threat to him.

Yet the cabin filled with smoke as flames licked the walls.

///

Anxious types milled around outside the shopfront of an electronics store, watching the numerous televisions on display in the window. They were all tuned to the same channel. Below the reporter a title read: "Sixth victim in as many days".

'...police are still on the hunt for a serial killer wreaking havoc upon the small town of Kemp, situated 20 miles east of Balmain in the state's north. The tiny population of 200 are living in constant fear, terrorised by what police describe as a meticulous and bloodthirsty killer. Each of the victims have been found on mountaintops throughout the region, which is known for its snowy peaks and idyllic views. Police are advising the residents of Kemp to avoid travelling alone and in the dark, and to ensure doors and windows are kept locked at all times. Many have already made the decision to leave town until the killer has been caught--'

The televisions flickered off, as did the streetlights.

///

He quivered with satisfaction, an irrepressible happiness surged through his veins. The last month had been ecstasy. The town had dwindled down to less than a quarter of its original population. And he'd made such beautiful, terrifying art.

He sipped at the caramel latte he'd made and looked out into the deserted main street. The road was barely visible beneath the snow; maybe one car had driven down it this morning. He was the only person in the cafe. Packets of coffee beans were piled up beside him. He gathered them in his arms and nodded to a portrait that hung on the wall beside the window. It was a photo of a smiling Asian woman with grey hair and her grown son. He closed his eyes and flicked back through his recent collection of memories...

Mrs Kim lay on her back near the peak of Mount Edison, her eye-catching powder blue shawl stained with blood. Ribbons of red paint flung forth from his paint can, lashing at her body and the snow around her.

///

2:43AM - Nightmare

That haunting dream of being cooed to sleep by death. His hand gently stroking the back of your hair as your attempts to call out are muffled by the steadily increasing warmth and blankness. The feeble attempts to call out are soon replaced by a pressing desire to wake up in reality. How much of this is a dream. What if death really is stroking my hair and coaxing me away from life through the disguise of a dream? After the fight is won, the thoughts and the fear of the dream remains like a residue on my mind. And the hair on the back of my head feels unnaturally smoothed. I hear the stairs creak. My curtains ruffle without the sound of much wind being present outside. I sit shaken. The peripheries of my vision narrow, sleep beckons me still. Despite the adrenaline its urging me back. But I know if I return this quickly the scenario will repeat, the narrative will play out again. And who's to say I'll be the victor of round two...? So I sit and busy myself. And say aloud to my sleeping family I love them, in spite of their inability to hear me. Then I write this down and it comes across a paranoid musing. How manic. This feeling, this fear. It stems from somewhere. It was started by something. Doesn't it? Wasn't it? I feel irrational and disturbed, but I haven't written so freely in months. Don't let this malevolent night be something final...

good

One experience can change a person very much.

My latest such experience was on Saturday night at about midnight, when I had my first ride in a police car. I was in the passenger seat, with an off duty police officer. A new friend.

We went into the city for a late night snack, and policy dictated that he have his police radio on. I'd seen on the news the violence that happens in the CBD, but had convinced myself such incidences were infrequent and played up by the media. I'd never seen anyone bleeding on the streets, I'd never seen a gang fight, or a rape.

I was ignorant to all of these things.

Listening to dispatch reporting glassing after glassing, a brawl, a sexual assault, an attacked taxi driver and people passed out on sidewalks all over the city opened my eyes.

It prompted me to ask him a lot of questions, the most pressing however, "do you still have faith in people?"

After a while he shook his head and said, "I spend my time dealing with bad people, or the bad situations. It's uncommon for a policeman to see good."

It made me realise that there are jobs, and then there are jobs with responsibility. There are people, and there are extraordinary people. It shook me up. Jolted me awake from whatever coma it was I'd been in.

I want to be good. I want to do good.