What I was working on – no longer…

The Power of the Mind


Jack Eason

As far back as his early childhood, he had always despised certain individuals. In his eyes something had to be done. With his special ability, it became his mission in life to rid the world of those, deemed to be a blight on humanity’s existence! It wasn’t until he was in his seventies that he felt compelled to act. So long as he kept his mouth shut, one thing was certain, no-one else would know or suspect a thing, providing he stayed inside his home when carrying out his actions.


In The Beginning

He sat in his chair with his laptop on his knees, with a look of deep satisfaction on his face, as he caught up with his emails. He wouldn’t have any further trouble from his bolshie neighbour in the house behind his, since he had rid the world of him yesterday afternoon. How had he done it? By the power of thought (aided by a dismissive gesture of his right hand) delivering the man to oblivion. He had contemplated simply dumping him in the Arctic Ocean, or the North Sea. But as this was the first time he made use of what he’d learnt, he wasn’t sure if someone might have noticed the lifeless body of a large middle-aged man crashing down from the skies into the sea in either location.

What had the man done to upset him?

He had been busy trying to write using his laptop while sitting in front of the window, when he was instantly distracted by movement across his peripheral vision. It was the last straw! Weeks earlier a large hole appeared in the back hedge directly opposite his living room window, thanks to his neighbour. When he asked him what he was doing, he was told in no uncertain terms to “…bog off you old cunt!”


How did he become aware of this ancient weapon? It all started on his fourth birthday. He woke to find a book tied with a blue ribbon, laying at the foot of his bed. His mother knew how he loved to read. The book looked positively ancient, which it is. It had been handed down through his mother’s family in France since the eleventh century, before being handed over to each new generation here in England. What the book taught had never been used according to his mother’s understanding. But, should it ever become necessary, whoever had it must be prepared to use it. He carefully untied the ribbon before placing it under his pillow, intending to return it later to his much loved mother. He opened the book at the first page and began reading. Because of his tender years at the time, it never registered with him that he was reading an eight-hundred and twenty year old book, originally written in French, in English. There was no real mystery here dear reader. The book changed the language of its narrative to suit the nationality of whoever possessed it at the time of reading. Hours later his mother gently took the book and placed it beside him before kissing him goodnight. As he drifted off he realised that not only had he spent the entire day reading, but also that he hadn’t eaten a thing. While he slept, the book continued to instruct him with everything he needed to know. His rumbling stomach would have to wait until breakfast time on the following day.


Now, some years later he had finally put into practice what he had learned so long ago by ridding the world of one thoroughly objectionable individual. Who would be next? For several weeks no one drew attention to themselves. Then, one day he was watching the early morning news. One particular individual captured his attention. It was the current President of the United States – a thoroughly objectionable and arrogant billionaire who thought he could do or say anything without reproach, or veto any legislation, agreement, trade deal or law he didn’t like. He was a classic example of someone who should never have been elevated to the highest political office in any nation. The man was a dangerous imbecile. Compared to him, most American politicians made far more likely candidates for the position. The trouble was that he enjoyed the support of others of a similar ineptitude to himself across the fifty states of the union, angering the normally conservative establishment and intelligentsia. No one knew if he had ever been targeted for assassination. The White House certainly never confirmed or denied any claims in that regard. When you think about it, it’s a wonder it hadn’t happened considering the mix of often hostile descendants of European and South American immigrants, that go to make up the bulk of today’s American population.

Working quietly within the confines of his home, he began to picture the President in his mind. The more he thought about him, the angrier he got! Would he consign him to oblivion like his former neighbour? Or would he choose an ocean with which to dispatch him? In the end, he chose another location entirely. With a flourish of his hand he dismissed him from the planet forever. For a few seconds the inhabitants of the International Space Station thought they saw someone vaguely familiar, floating lifeless in front of their eyes before the side effect of his action, collective amnesia, set in. Thanks to that same phenomena, back on Earth several weeks went by as he scoured the news media for any report on the missing President. But when a presidential election campaign was held in the US later that year, thanks to the effects of collective amnesia, it was as if the former occupier of the Oval Office had never existed…

Gunboat Diplomacy

Hearing and seeing hourly reports on television about illegal immigrants being transported in rubber dinghies by human traffickers across the Med to the Balkans, Greece, Italy, France and Spain, and from France across the English Channel to the United Kingdom, had become de rigueur on the news. Typically the news media sought out the sensational, hoping to appeal to the bleeding hearts who looked upon the average immigrant from the Middle East, and beyond to Afghanistan and Pakistan as nothing less than wronged brothers and sisters, by showing the dead bodies of men, women and children washing ashore interspersed with shots of state sponsored mourners in the guise of old women clad in black burqa and hijab, flailing their arms against their sagging breasts as well as shedding crocodile tears; all for the benefit of western cameras. Was it any wonder that so many of the young in the Middle East wanted to come to the west! To all intent and purpose the populations of the Islamic nations were still living a medieval existence, thanks to the rigid tenets of their authoritarian religion.

Human rights activists were demanding that the immigrants be given homes here in the West while ignoring the plight of our own homeless and destitute. The problem was that all European nations were easy targets for questionable individuals from the Middle East and beyond. Some of them hated the West, to the point where they saw it as their religious duty to commit suicide in a spectacular way by blowing themselves up while at the same time taking as many western ‘unbelievers’ with them as possible. Bombings and knife attacks while invoking Allah, egged on by bitter and twisted imams who brainwashed them into believing that they would live for all eternity, having first sampled the delights of forty virgins in heaven.

These were just two examples of how they repaid the misguided fools who welcomed them with open arms! He believed that whoever accepted what amounts to the quasi religious claptrap spouted by some fanatical followers of Muhammad’s teachings, needs his or her bumps felt! By all means blow yourselves up if you must, but not in the West, thank you very much!

He realised that something had to be done to end the movement of illegal immigrants across Europe and beyond, once and for all. So long as the ineffective governments of every European nation hid behind the enshrined human rights laws, no country would take the sensible step to end the open sore that was unchecked illegal migration, despite calls from right minded citizens of a certain age group like himself, demanding the various western navies be employed in blowing the boats out of the water at source. The trouble was that no EU politician wanted to be associated with what amounted to the idea of Fortress Europe. None of them were prepared to sanction what made perfect sense to the silent majority in all Western Nations, both here in the UK, across the North Sea in continental Europe, and in the United States and Canada, as well as Australia and New Zealand! The shame of it was that since the end of the Second World War back in 1945, it had taken just one generation for all Western governments to adopt human rights in favour of the ‘big stick’. How soon the post Second World War war generation forgot the hard lessons learned by their parents!

There was still a lot to be said for the return of gunboat diplomacy in this particular instance. He had been brought up in the decades of the twentieth century when peace marches, protests, and sit-ins by the young became the norm; none of which he took part in because of his straight-laced conservative upbringing. Which is why when the rot set in and movements like Ban the Bomb, Greenpeace and latterly Climate Change, spawned our current crop of politicians – useless articles every one! Unlike the majority of his generation, he ignored the trends and followed the traditions of past generations by joining up and doing his bit for Queen and country, as a consequence being wounded in the line of duty in a country far away. But that’s another story…


He got out the book and began rereading it once again. There must be a solution to the problem that didn’t involve innocent women and children drowning? Eventually he found what he was looking for. But if he wanted people to take notice, this time collective amnesia was out of the question. The world was about to witness and reflect on his next series of actions for itself. Whether or not it would shake the various nations out of their apathetic existences, to the point where they all cried “enough,” regarding illegal human trafficking was highly doubtful. Butnothing ventured, nothing gained, he began by concentrating on the northern coast of Turkey.


Both emigrants and traffickers alike stood frozen to the spot as the various boats at the point of departure were ripped apart by unseen forces. He kept it up until the traffickers got the message! A month later he concentrated on the North African Mediterranean coastlines of Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia and Libya. It took countless hours on his part, but eventually the only people left on any of the beaches were local fishermen. Now all he needed to do was concentrate on Normandy’s coastline, specifically from Cherbourg in the south, to Calais in the North, and beyond to the southern Belgian coast, directly opposite the East of England, where he lived.

Because of his successful operation across the Mediterranean, the world’s news media was now fully alert. On a beach at Cherbourg two dinghies had just been put in the water by people smugglers, watched by locals from the clifftop overlooking the scene. When the dinghies were torn to shreds, one of the spectators filmed the entire thing on his smartphone.

While what he filmed went viral on YouTube in its alien conspiracy section, not one television news channel, nor any newspaper was prepared to broach the subject based on what the locals had witnessed. At best it could be explained away as a freak of nature. Perhaps a localised twister! Not even the proponents of the paranormal – charlatans all, was prepared to offer an opinion or hazard a guess, depending on their point of view.

Bits and Pieces

Several months passed by. He sighed with relief as he scoured the internet for the final time looking for any sign of what he’d done being commented upon. Despite the highly public nature of each phase of the operation, there was no reaction whatsoever. It appeared he had got away with it! However across the intelligence communities, whispered conversations were gathering momentum! Why were just human traffickers inflatable boats destroyed? Why were no people injured considering the fact that they were in such close proximity to the boats in question? Was it an act of god? The easily led certainly believed so. Add to that the nagging thought at the back of his mind that his luck must end sooner or later, began to surface? To say he was almost ready to stop altogether was an understatement.

A few weeks later he was seated in his old chair with his feet on the coffee table and his laptop across his knees, checking his emails as he normally did each morning while listening to classical music on the BBC Radio 3 Breakfast programme. The sound of the dog across the road incessantly barking, ended his enjoyment of the particular rendering of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony by the London Philharmonic Orchestra that he was listening to.

His neighbour Carol positively doted over the inbred mutt she owned with its deformed teeth and deranged look in its eyes. Like everyone else in the street, if he approached it he was always greeted with a wagging tail and a murderous growl. It was a classic example of puppy farm inbreeding if ever there is one. If it had been human it would have been locked up, years ago having been declared insane by a panel of psychiatrists and psychologists. Ever since he moved into the neighbourhood twelve years earlier, the damned thing barked incessantly day and night. Their mutual neighbours never complained about it to her for fear of being subjected to an angry outburst by bother her and the damned dog. She fancied herself as the leader of the neighbourhood. She certainly was a busy body, sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted! The bloody dog knew that he could get away with murder because of his mistress.

Two could play at that game. It had to go! The second he heard it bark he snapped his forefinger against his thumb. Across the road the dog shot into the air, before being propelled eastward. By the time it landed with a splash in the middle of the North Sea, the reality of its predicament began to vaguely register in its fevered mind. When it sank for the third and final time it was whimpering pathetically! From now on his life would be relatively undisturbed, or so he hoped. Once again collective amnesia took care of any doubts he may have had about any reaction over the dog going missing. Although she must have wondered why she had a water bowl and dog dish on the kitchen floor, plus two weeks worth of dog food in a cupboard? Then again – maybe not…


A few days went by until something else made itself known to him. For years, in fact ever since he moved in, roughly once a month he would be woken by the sound of an opportunist burglar testing his front door in the early hours of the morning in the hopes that he hadn’t locked it. Fat chance; he may be old, but he still had all of his marbles! He had already made up his mind that the next time it happened whoever it was would be consigned to Davy Jones locker! He didn’t have to wait long.

A week later he was woken by loud knocking at his front door. Once again, he snapped his forefinger against his thumb, before turning on his bedroom light to see what time it was. The miscreant rose into the upper atmosphere in a blind panic before being rendered unconscious due to the lack of oxygen in the lower stratosphere. His body began its rapid descent to the Atlantic Ocean far below, never to be seen, or indeed missed...

What Now

What got on his wick the most? Several things immediately sprang to mind, such as ineffectual snobbish politicians, the obscenely rich one percent of the population, incompetence in the commercial world and corporate stonewalling. In other words—the less than helpful ‘Help Desks.’ What he really loathed were football hooligans; ill educated morons every one!


Because of the hubbub in the stadium no one saw, or heard the thumb of an elderly man’s left hand snap against his left forefinger, before sweeping both of his hands in front of him in an almost imperceptible way close to his body. But, everyone there that day experienced the carnage that transpired. This was the first time he had acted anywhere other than the seclusion of his own home.

As far as he was concerned the time to rid the nation of everyone who didn’t deserve to live had arrived! If he was caught, what would anyone do given the fact that the death penalty had been abolished decades earlier? He sat at the back of the crowd in the stadium listening to Miserere Mei, Deus (Agnus Dei) on his headphones, oblivious to the chaotic scene unfolding before him. Whenever circumstances appeared to be getting beyond his control, Allegri’s beautiful choral work always restored his inner peace. With his right hand he once more waved it from left to right in an almost dismissive gesture. Instantly peace returned to the stadium. Apart from a whimper here, a cry of pain there, silence soon descended among the thousands of dead and dying football fans.

What had brought him to commit this momentous act? From his perspective it was sheer desperation on his part at the indifference regarding the state of the world. Or rather, how mankind had renounced its stewardship of the world in favour of wealth, greed, avarice – take your pick! Unbeknownst to him, the book was taking over his life. Indeed it had been grooming him since he first read it years earlier. Up until this point in time he had been surreptitiously guided by it. Ideas of absolute right and wrong were implanted in his mind by it as he grew to adulthood. That said, he hadn’t exactly led a blameless life. Far from it in fact! He still drank a pint or two; endlessly smoked roll your own cigarettes. Malawi Leaf being his tobacco of choice. It had taken him over a month of searching online to find a tobacconist that stocked it in this country. His home positively reeks of it. Having said that it isn’t unpleasant since it’s smoke produces a perfumed odour.


A couple of weeks later it was time for his next target?

The stress of getting a ticket to the Strangers Gallery above the floor of the House of Commons in the Palace of Westminster had taken its toll on his nerves. If only they had known! But it didn’t matter a damn now, he was here ready for action! From where he sat in the shadows of The Strangers’ Gallery, none of his fellow observers of the Mother of all Parliaments in action noticed as he inserted his ear plugs and adjusted the volume of his Smartphone to suit. Soon he began to relax as Miserere Mei, Deus soothed him once again. It was time to act! A lesson had to be learnt by the servants of the rich and powerful in the United Kingdom. Thinking about it, servants is the wrong word. As he saw it the epithet ‘enforcers’ summed up every politician sat below him to a tee. An example had to be made! He straightened his back and then stood briefly in the shadows behind the rest, cocked his left thumb while pointing the first finger of his left hand at the head of one back bencher in the government chosen at random, before sitting down.

Somewhere a woman screamed. Panic ensued as the terrified politicians fought each other to exit the House as quickly as they could. As he was being jostled towards the door by those behind him, he turned to glance at his handiwork. Blood still spurted from the neck of the decapitated body of his target. What remained of its head stuck to the wooden panel behind the body. Thanks to the daily live television coverage of parliament by the still EU biased British Broadcasting Corporation, panic soon spread amongst the movers and shakers across the country. Newspapers and political pundits wanted to know who or what was responsible. A politician had been executed in the Houses of Parliament; and yet no shot was heard. No weapon found?


What would be his third target? A month went by before he made up his mind.

He arrived on The Isle of Dogs which had long since vanished under tarmac and concrete like so many former landmarks of old London. He chose Canary Wharf simply because it was the latest Central Business District; an obscene monument to greed and corruption by the few. It had to go! He walked the canyons of glass and steel looking for somewhere relatively safe while he carried out his plan. The idea of returning to the Underground Station from whence he had arrived suddenly dawned on him, not realising that the book had told him to do it. Fifteen minutes later he had arrived back at the north entrance close to Canada Square.

Once again no one took the least bit notice as he plugged his headphones into his Smartphone and pressed the classical music app. Anyone that had would have seen nothing more than an elderly man, eyes closed, conducting a phantom orchestra as his hands began their deadly work once again. With each gesture of the rolled up newspaper in his left hand, the skyscrapers housing the United Kingdom’s investment banks began to tear themselves apart. With his right hand he described rapid upward motions which sent buildings like The Shard, several thousand feet into the air, before plummeting to the ground. His symphony of death only stopped when every skyscraper had been reduced to nothing more than a pile of twisted steel, concrete, and shattered glass. What his next target would be would have to wait. He needed to go home to recuperate…


Time to Go Global?

For several months he remained inactive, fearful of operating in the open ever again, unless circumstances inevitably demanded it. One morning the BBC News led with a story about gunrunners caught trying to land a large shipment of AK47’s and shoulder launch RPG7’s here in the UK. No mention was made about whether or not they were the only items seized. Nor if any of the four countries that still make up the United Kingdom was the final destination, despite the Scottish First Minister’s pathetic attempt to withdraw from the Union. He had to find out more. But how?

He checked all of the other television channels, radio stations, both local and national, plus the major daily newspapers — nothing. Then a few days later he got lucky when it was revealed on Breakfast Radio that GCHQ had determined that the weapons were sourced from one country, after interviewing the captured gunrunners. While they bore Russian or Chinese manufacturing markings, none of them were manufactured in, or under license to either country. Instead sources in Pakistan confirmed the fact that they were made in the back street workshops of Karachi.

He had to find out exactly who was responsible. Normally if he wanted to know something it was a simple procedure. All he had to do was ask his online friends or Google his enquiry! In this instance, given what he had done of late, communicating with anyone or using his laptop for the answers he sought, the chances were it would result in questions being asked in the intelligence community. He had no choice but to find out for himself. He had to go to Karachi.


His flight from Heathrow touched down at 2am Pakistani time. After sleeping on the balcony of his cheap hotel in crowded streets of old Karachi, because despite the large fan spinning above his bed, it was hotter inside than out; the next morning after breakfast he headed downstairs and set foot on the pavement outside. Armed with a street map of the city and his smartphone concealed in his trouser pocket, which would act as a GPS when the time came, he was taken by pedicab to the area where the workshops were located. He bought himself something to eat and drink from one of the many street vendors. As he ate his Bun Kebab, he listened to the noise of the streets, and any conversations in English. Nothing was forthcoming so he returned to his hotel and a well earned cold drink! He made the same journey each morning for the next five days. Each time returning to his hotel empty-handed.

With a day left before he was due to return home, his persistence finally paid off. While wandering the manufacturing district once again, he caught sight of an advertising hoarding. It was emblazoned with the unmistakeable outline of an AK47. Noting the street name and the number above the door, and memorizing the GPS coordinates, he headed back to his hotel.

He asked the hotel manager if he could borrow a local telephone directory. Sitting in the foyer he began his search for the address he had noted down. It turned out to be a goldmine of information. Not only was the arms workshop he found listed, but also nine others situated close by.


By the time he was once more safely ensconced in his home in the East of England, he had decided on what he would do next. Once again he consulted the book. Five days later the world became aware of what he had done, still not realising he was responsible, or so he hoped. The television news channels told of a freak occurrence centred on the slums of Pakistan’s largest city. According to eyewitnesses a twister suddenly appeared above one particular district, killing thousands as it swept through, before dissipating as quickly as it arrived. Thanks to the book, he had created a powerful force of nature which he ensured landed on the arms workshop he found, then on to the others.


What happened next totally unnerved him! He was woken early one morning by someone knocking loudly on his front door. For a few moments he thought it was another opportunist burglar, until he checked for himself. Outside his house a black car was parked with someone behind the wheel. As he leaned out of his kitchen window he could see the back of a man in a suit on the step beyond his front door. He got his keys and unlocked his front door.

Mr John Able?”

Yes, can I help you?”

The man briefly flashed his identification. “I wish to talk to you about your recent trip to Pakistan. May I come in?”

No! Ask your question then bugger off, I’m busy!

He asked him about why he had visited the manufacturing district on several occasions during his short stay. “There’s no big mystery young man, engineering still fascinates me after a lifetime in the field,” he replied. “Now it’s my turn -I’m curious why someone obviously from British Intelligence is here in my home asking me damn fool questions which you already have the answers to if you’ve checked up on me as I suspect?” he replied in an annoyed tone. The colour drained from the younger man’s face. He stared icily back at him for a few moments before rising and exiting from his home without so much as an apology for bothering him.

Lesson learnt – no more expeditions beyond his home. Who had reported him, the hotel manager? The street vendor? Or was it the pedicab driver?


Well did you learn anything?”


I’m not surprised. After all a retired engineer visiting engineering establishments in a foreign country is nothing more than a busman’s holiday you idiot! Now lets get back to base shall we?”

I still think he is suspicious!”

Don’t be surprised if the boss sends you to some godforsaken place in the boonies of north-west Scotland after this. She certainly won’t be happy about you dragging me here, nor your flimsy reason for doing so. Your unsubstantiated suspicions have caused both of us grief in the past remember? Everyone in the office knows that you are a total idiot. You’ve just proved it yet again!” his colleague replied with a grin on his face. With that he drove them both back to GCHQ. He was going to dine out on his partner’s latest faux pas for weeks to come.


God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Several more months past by. Christmas was just around the corner, not that he was expecting anyone to visit with a present in hand as his closest friends and former work colleagues were spread far and wide across the planet.

An unprecedented ecumenical conclave had been called at the behest of both the Holy Roman Catholic Church and the Church of England for the first week in January of the upcoming new year, to be held in closed session at Canterbury Cathedral.

The subject to be debated was entitledPaedophiles in the Anglican and Roman Catholic Churches’. Both the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Pope were increasingly receiving more and more hate mail from angry lay members of both churches, In essence they wanted to know how many more bishops and lower order priests were going to be ‘forgiven’ for gratifying their base sexual needs after grooming vulnerable young boys and girls. At the very least they should be defrocked! Better still; simply handed over to the police! For far too long both churches continued to turn a blind eye to the problem in their respective houses. It was yet another example of the double standards being exhibited to the world at large, by two institutions that until now considered themselves above civil law; although not the law of the God they both professed to believe in! Strange then that their imaginary construct had nothing to say on the subject…

As William Shakespeare’s character Marcellus says to Horatio in his play Hamlet, “something is rotten in the State of Denmark.” Indeed—something had to be done! If neither church was prepared to do anything, then he was!!! He began by scanning the archives of the world’s leading newspapers for articles on the subject. It didn’t take him long to find all the ammunition he needed.


But before he turned his attention to the problem, a notorious case became headline news while he was researching the news reports concerning the paedophile rings in the two main Christian churches – not just in the UK, but also the rest of Europe! A mortuary attendant in Nottingham had been found guilty of necrophilia. The court heard how he had been caught in the act of having sex with the corpse of a male eighteen year old murder victim on the slab in the mortuary where he worked, by his employer.

The court heard from an eminent psychologist that in her professional opinion he was incapable of a normal relationship because of his predilection for non-responsive sexual partners. She revealed that the police inspector in charge of the case stated he had found an anatomically correct life size sex doll in the man’s bed. While owning and using one is not unlawful, she brought it to the court’s attention to emphasize her considered opinion. He was found guilty by an extremely conservative jury and sent to a secure psychiatric hospital, before being transferred to prison for fifteen years.

Finding out where he would be incarcerated was not public knowledge. However, the psychiatric hospital was known — thanks to one of the reporters covering the trial, when the paper he worked for published the degenerates’ photograph, the hospital’s name and whereabouts on the following day. Armed with this knowledge it was time for him to act once again, to do what he did best – remove the sick bastard by whatever means the ancient book dictated.

Quite inexplicably he was found garrotted, hideously half decapitated with a cheese wire, by hospital staff the following morning in his cell. For some reason the close circuit TV monitoring all the patients had been switched off! No fingerprints were found on the wooden handles at either end of the wire, nor on the door to his locked room.


A couple of weeks later he was ready for the paedophiles. His first target would be any bishop still living, guilty of paedophilia, no matter how well thought of he may be in his church’s hierarchy! Thanks to the book he began to formulate a strategy to deal with the problem. Where would he begin. It was obvious really. Any bishop or cardinal who had been tried, convicted and sent to prison by the courts in whichever country he resided in was his first victim.

When the most senior catholic cardinal in Australia mysteriously died in the religious retreat he was sent to by the Supreme Court, despite protestations by the Vatican to keep the details from the Press, the world woke to lurid photo’s splashed across every news channel of his corpse dressed in a leather mini-skirt and blond wig, with his hands tied behind his back and a gag in his mouth, plus the handle of a leather horse whip protruding from his large rear end. Needless to say, it caused a sensation throughout the Catholic Church, when the news media flashed the pictures around the world.

Six months later all denominations of Christianity were finally cleansed of the disgusting sexual predators he had had in his sights. Although the religious among us would never hold their heads high ever again.

Who or what was next?


A Time for Reflection

Spring arrived in all its glory. The trees were resplendent in their coats of fresh green leaves. The birds were busy feeding their young. Flowers were opening their petals. Above his head the odd contrail had begun to cross the clear blue sky over the western North Sea once again, the first he’d seen since to all intent and purpose, the Earth shut itself down a few months earlier, thanks to a particularly nasty virus for which there was no known cure, emanating from the Far East, which killed millions as it spread. Daily the news media had become obsessed on the one hand with how many people had died of the virus in the preceding twenty-four hours, while on the other, siding with the fools who refuse to follow the government’s sound advice to isolate themselves at home for as long as it takes! He made a mental note to deal out few sharp lessons where necessary, when he had time. Thanks to the virus, life as we had previously known it had ended quite literally overnight…


As for him, he was grateful for the break from what had become an all consuming one man crusade. He was tired, and sick to the stomach with what certain individuals considered acceptable these days.

His daily routine started as it always did with him rising from his bed to make himself a plunger of black coffee, which he took into the living room. After pouring himself his first coffee of the day, he opened up his laptop and began his daily ritual of checking his emails. From his short wave radio on the table beside his old recliner, his beloved classical music washed over him, calming his feverish mind.


He decided to head to the corner shop, a round trip of only a couple of hundred yards, but which may as well have been a couple of hundred miles in his condition. Inevitably the gradual descent down the street he lives on to the main road at the bottom of the hill, and the store, took its toll on his legs.

Thank god he had his walking stick! He was on his way back home with his shopping when he was felled from behind. As his eyes cleared he realised that he was surrounded by a forest of legs. He lashed out with his stick at several of them, while fending off a barrage of kicks. Cries of pain rang out…

By the time he finished, his attackers lay all around him nursing their wounds! He had just dealt a lesson to the neighbourhood bullies that they would not soon forget! His equally elderly neighbours had heard the commotion, and two came to his aid while the rest surrounded the bullies until the police arrived. They helped him to his feet and accompanied him to his front door. After thanking them and closing and locking his front door, he collapsed shaking in his chair in front of the television. Not all people are bad, especially the elderly. However, if his attackers were foolish enough to come back, or report him to the police…


The UK woke to the news that two of the BBC’s highest paid presenters were found dead. For far too long they and the rest of the presenters were paid outlandish amounts, merely because their faces fitted the perceived view of what the Beeb thought the public expected. Receiving over a million pounds per annum for presenting a radio show by one of the two, and fronting a football program on television for the ‘great unwashed’ millions by the other, was an obscenity that had to be curtailed! The public were paying for it in the form of the highly unpopular Television Licence Fee. Considering that after the massive payouts, the little money that was left meant endless repeats, and no new programs worth a damn, he had to deliver a coup de grace to stop the rot. He made a mental note, in that he’d give the Beeb six months to come to its senses. God help them if they didn’t!


The governments of the world were wringing their hands. Thanks to the virus each country’s economy had sunk to an all-time low. Why? What was the reason? Or should that read – reasons? First of all incompetence on the part of the governments. Secondly no one wanted to be locked down – forced to stay at home. In other words childish obstinance on the part of any given country’s population became the norm. What could he do? More importantly what should he do? Somehow or other he had to bring back a sense of right and wrong to the average man and woman. Together with a large helping of common sense! Ever since the nineteen sixties every western government relaxed the way they treated their respective citizens. Gone was the iron grip. Gone was the fear of imprisonment or worse that curtailed any thoughts of rebellion in all its forms. Was it too late for human kind???


Will I ever get back to finishing it? Who knows! At the moment I have no desire to do so. For now it will remain in its shortened state. In other words, merely basic ideas…

3 thoughts on “What I was working on – no longer…

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