Something I read today made me sad, then it made me angry, then it made me want to do something.
So, I wrote this little piece and, if you want to help, it will be greatly appreciated by those who need it most:
He’d never even met her, so his reasons for the clawing sadness in his gut were confusing to him.
It had to do with the cruel hand that had been dealt, that’s all he could put it down to. It simply wasn’t just, wasn’t right.
Whilst across the world men killed men, men hurt women, men left children damaged – how could it be that a person who didn’t have a single bad bone in her body be snatched away so cruelly?
Whilst others took from the world, stole from others, all she had done was give to others, to hand her art to the world in the form of her words for them to enjoy. Ironic, he thought, that all she had been doing really was, as most writers state they do, getting her anguish out on the page. It was a way of making sense of the world around her.
He wasn’t sure quite how that left him at all.
He didn’t realise how tightly he clutched his pen until it was too late, the plastic barrel cracking and black ink dispersing across the coffee shop table, spatters of it across his treasured notebook. Her blood, he thought, shivering at the fact he’d thought that. Her blood running from her body.
But she hadn’t been taken that way.
Perhaps he could deal with things better if that had been the case.
If she’d been struck by a car as she’d made an error in judgement crossing a road, or she’d been the victim of a street robbery gone wrong perhaps.
But, neither of those things had happened.
A monster had come and taken her away, the same monster he’d known to have snatched others from his life in the past – too many others.
It didn’t matter how often he heard that the monster was being beaten, that scientists were striving forward and winning a kind of war against it, he didn’t believe them. He needed to see the evidence of such claims, needed to lose less people in his life.
In his dreams it would be cinema’s greatest monster fighter, Peter Cushing, who would vanquish the monster, be it with crossed candlesticks or a revolver loaded with silver bullets. Whatever method he chose, he knew that Cushing would have triumphed over whatever form the monster took.
The problem was, this monster was a coward, it hid away, never showed itself – at least not very often. It scurried around under the skins of the people it chose to attack, it had no preferred type of victim. All of that made it so hard to track, so hard to catch, and to kill.
So, he had to accept that we have no Peter Cushing for this one. Crossed candlesticks and bullets forged from silver will likely offer no solution – but we have to keep on fighting the monster in the only ways we know.
And so, with ‘dress-down Fridays’, coffee mornings, cake sales and marathon runs, the battle rages on.
He gingerly opened his twitter account and began to type:
‘It’s time to go monster-slaying. Who’s with me?’
This is all I can think of to do right now – so, please do dig deep and help out if you can.
It’ll hurt my legs and feet more than your wallets and purses… !
Thanks in advance