LEGACY (a short story)

This will be my final farewell. I know that I am dying. I've been trapped in this prison for almost eight hours and I can feel my insides cooking. The sun is intense and it's sucking up my energy like a sponge. I've tried to escape for so long now that my legs just don't have in them to keep trying.

And so these words will be my legacy to you, my captors. I will make a promise to you. My descendants will out live you all. They will see to it that when your time is up - they will be the victors.

My children will infest your life, and you will call them pests. They will do what has been programmed in their DNA. They will clean up your messes, will scavenge on your waste, and will do so in order to secure their survival.

We have been on this planet for over 300 million years. And we evolved into something that you fear. We are strong enough to out last you. We are better suited to this world and its terrain. And when you are dead and rotting, we will feed from you, and our sisters will lay eggs in you and you will sustain us for years to come as we feed from your rotting corpses.

As always, we will clean up after you. We will clean you up.

We do not need to farm, to build and to develop to survive. We are a plague, and we will devour your remains and your cities and continue on, long after you have gone.

Though I know that the end of my time is soon, I will die knowing that I have fathered hundreds of children. And they will carry my genes.

It was the coffee that attracted me to my prison. The smell of the damp rotting beans was too much to ignore. I climbed the wall and dropped into my hell, so full of heavenly waste. I have eaten my last meal, and now I will wait for the sun to finish my life for good. These glass walls are too slippy for me to climb, though I have tried.

And I am not alone. There are twelve of us in here, not quite enough for us to climb on each other so a few can survive. Which one of us will die first is the only question left. The sun acts like a laser, burning its light into our prison, scorching us one by one.

We have adapted to your selfish ways. There are other species that have suffered by your hands. Those species have been slaughtered, hunted and pushed away from their natural habitats. And you had no regard for them. But we have relished your endeavours. You feed us, though try to exterminate us. You shelter us though you hate our being near. You keep us warm though you would rather see us dead. You are a contradiction, and though many of us have died by your hand, we persevere. You will not make us extinct as you have others. We are too many and too strong.

And soon, you will destroy yourselves and we will laugh at your demise. We will multiply in your absence and recover the world that you have tried to destroy.We are made of stronger stuff. Step on us and our children may still survive. You study us, you have learnt to understand us, but we cannot help you with your self-destructive ways. You do not need any help with your self-destructive ways.

There is a female in our prison and she carries her young. She knows that her time is up too, and buries the eggs deep into the coffee. No doubt you will empty our remains into your sewers where you think the problem will be gone from you forever. But her eggs may still hatch, down there in the darkness and warmth. You will have flushed away what you think is your problem, but you will ensure that our descendants will be born.

We were created to withstand the destruction of humans. And we will go on. We are part of the food chain. We eat the decomposing bodies and vegetation, and are food for birds and lizards.We are too important to perish by your hands.
You, however, are not.

Perspective

I'd like to have small chat about perspective. My issue is that very few people these days seem to have any.
I want.
I need.
There is a massive difference to the above two sentences. MASSIVE.
I want... an iPad, an exercise bike, a smart TV, a new kettle, that gorgeous top, those stunning shoes...
I need... water, food in my belly, a roof over my head.
It's really not rocket science.

That child in the supermarket queue screaming at mum that he needs some sweets? He doesn't need them at all. He wants them, is all.

I get so tired of people who overreact and think it's the end of the world when the heel comes off their shoe, or they've run out of petrol, or they've burnt dinner, or have been dumped, or, heaven forbid, can't find something to wear in a wardrobe full of clothes!
So let me clarify... The end of the world will come in several million years when the sun bakes the earth to a dry crisp. Or sooner if a monster asteroid hurtles through space toward us and Bruce Willis isn't available to drill a hole in it.
In the meantime, man up. And shut up.

These are tough times. People all around us are losing their jobs. Then potentially their homes. Then potentially their life savings (not sure what they are...). It's not easy. But you know what, we'll survive. It's a primal human instinct. It's in our DNA. It's in our power.
We survived smallpox, the plague, polio. We survived 2 world wars and countless others. Hell, we have even survived evolution and natural selection. We're a hell of a lot tougher than we give ourselves credit for.
Today, I learnt that two people have been cured of HIV aids. They no longer have the disease. How amazing is this? WE DID THIS!

So the next time you overreact when you spill red wine on your favourite white blouse, do it away from me, please. Because you'll get no sympathy from me. There are far more desperate souls out there that require my love and my time than you.

My Dad died of cancer a few years ago. I remember asking him one day, when the pain was too much for him, if he wanted anything. "No." he said quietly, "I don't want anything. I'm ok." He obviously wasn't. So I asked again. Did he need anything? He replied, "Need? Yes. I need a cure for cancer."

That is perspective.

Temple of Lies (a short story inspired by Sahra Pitt's photo)

The body lay at the bottom of the stairs. Right leg bent at an impossible angle, arms outstretched in a comic 'I surrender' salute. His neck was broken, his lips and nose touching the carpet in a caress.
Detective John Howdon looked around the foyer of the Clarrindale Hotel, taking in the surroundings. The uniforms had closed the doors and corralled all of the guests and staff into the ball room. He could hear the soft murmur of their voices carrying across the marble halls. The CCTV only covered the bottom seven steps and had captured the end of the fall. One dead. Forty five suspects. This was going to be a long night.
The body was Francis Temple, entrepreneur, multimillionaire, ex party boy before marrying the beautiful Sally Corby. John had seen his face plastered across the covers of magazines and newspapers for nearly six years. The kid was rich, ruthless and, if the tabloids were to be believed, randy. Thirty two years old.
So, accident or murder?
Kneeling down close to the body, John pulled out latex gloves and pushed his hands in to them although he inspected the body without touching it. Forensics were on their way for that.

The suit was a Hugo Boss tuxedo, white shirt, white bow tie. And a proper bow tie. No clip on for this man. There was a slight tear to the knee of the broken leg. Rough edges, not cut clean. John re-positioned himself to take a closer look. A little blood. A scratch to the broken leg, like a carpet burn. No protruding bones. 

Highly polished Loakes dress shoes, never worn outside by the look of the wear on the soles. No scuffing on them at all.
He had fallen, or been pushed, from the top of the stairway?
A bellboy stood at the doors of the ball room next to a uniform who was taking notes. John called him over. "Name?"

"Terry Black, sir."
"Did you see what happened?"
"I was at the reception desk so I only saw him fall the last few steps."
John nodded. And waited.
"He came down really quickly."
John nodded again.
"Fast, like he'd been pushed or something."

The Dinosaur's Tea Party (a short story inspired by Natalie Robinson's photo)

George looked at his cup and frowned, "Who's big idea was this?"
Hilda and Stephan strained to keep a straight face. Frank, however, couldn't control himself. "Big idea!" He laughed, "Big idea!"
George looked up to the rim of his cup towering above him. "Does anyone have a bendy straw?"
Hilda finally succumbed to her giggles and put her paw on George's leathery hide. "Oh, George, " she smiled, "you're the sweetest stegosaurus I know."
George couldn't blush, which was probably a good thing. Hilda swished her tail as she walked slowly back to her spot at the picnic blanket. Using her tiny hands, she held her tea cup delicately. Drinking from it, however, was another story. The teeth of a tyrannosaurus rex were not designed to sup on a cup of tea.
"So where did that big cup come from?" Frank asked. "Really wish I could say that it was my idea, but sadly it wasn't."
"Well, you are supposedly the clever one out of us," George replied. "At least, you're forever telling us that velociraptors are cleverer than the rest of us. So you tell us?"
Frank smirked.
Hilda, so often the calm one, hushed the boys before an argument could start. "If none of us did it, how did it get here?"

The Lake (a short story inspired by Sara Lee's photo)

The lake was strange. Shrouded in fog in early morning, flat like glass. The man had thrown the tennis ball in to it, but his dog had just watched it fly. There was no chase. The dog understood and wouldn't step within 20 yards of the water. But the man had long ago learnt to ignore his instinct.  Frustrated, he walked in to the fog to retrieve the ball. But it wasn't floating on the water like he expected.
The water was perfectly still.  Here, even the air was still. The man frowned. After a minute or two of looking, he called back to his dog, but the animal only whimpered, his silhouette hazzy in the fog. Where was the ball? Picking up a small rock on the shore, he tossed it in to the water in frustration.
The rock hit the water but didn't splash. The water allowed it to sink beneath its surface, bending itself around it. No ripples spread out from its landing spot.
Instinct finally settled on the man and he gingerly took a few steps back. Goose flesh rose on his arms, as the temperature seemed to drop suddenly.
Quietly, he walked away. His dog followed him, tail between his legs and head lowered. The walk was over for them.

Deep down at the bottom of the lake, something stirred. A ghost of a figure swimming in the murky depths. It was not alone. A larger figure also moved through the silt. And in its clawed hand, the yellow of a dirty tennis ball. It passed the ball to the smaller figure, who took it. Wonder filled its black eyes and an expression of joy filled its scaled face. Holding it tightly, the small monster grinned at its mother. And just like any child, it scurried away to play...

©2013 Kari Milburn

Rubbish Drivers - A Rant

I have an issue with bad drivers. I especially have a problem with bad drivers during adverse weather conditions.

Today, I had to drive south on M40. This is usually my favourite road. But not during the rush hour. It is a prime location for tail gaters. I had no idea that the arse of my car is that attractive...

Today, the British Isles are white with snow. The scenery is beautiful, but the roads are icey, slushy and dirty. And here in lies my issues...

People who drive white or silver cars when it snows or is foggy, and don't put on their headlights are just dumb. People who drive so close behind me that I can't see their lights or numberplate are also dumb. And people who drive over 80mph on icey roads are dumb too.

And people who pull in front of lorries and slam on their brakes. Dumb.

To the woman who pulled in front of me and braked suddenly,  when I was about 100 meters in front of a very big lorry that also slammed on his brakes when he realised what the stupid bitch had done, I say this... lorries do not have the same braking distance as cars in perfect driving conditions, let alone in wintery blizzards. In the split second it took me to realise that I was about to get squished, and noting that the next lane was busy with a speeding coach,  I had no alternative but to swerve on to the hard shoulder. Luckily for me, the lorry driver didn't have the same idea...

She not only did a bloody stupid thing, but she could have been responsible for me being squished and a jack knifed lorry.

Thank you to the lorry driver who joined me in a blare of horns. We frightened the shit out of her!

Deservedly so.

©2013 Kari Milburn

The Gentle Giant

The following is a short feature I wrote for a magazine whilst living in Singapore. I was 20, and that was back in 1993. I had since been amazed and proud how the world wide outcry of poaching had managed to protect the African elephants, our planets most noble of creatures.
I am now heart broken to hear that the rise of the Chinese market in ivory has meant that again, the poachers are killing. There is absolutely no need for this. None.

None.

It must stop.

THE GENTLE GIANT

It was over eighteen years ago, whilst the poachers in Africa were still legally hunting elephants for their ivory, when my mother took my two sisters to the zoo.  Gina, who was then three, gazed up with wonder into the eyes of an African Elephant.  "Do they bite?"  She asked.

Lisa, the all knowledgeable elder sister, then five, replied after much thought,  "Only when you pick them up."

A child's imagination stretches far beyond the bounds of reality.  They live in a dream world, learning new things every day.  But a young child would not understand the meaning of the word extinction.  Their imagination finds it difficult to understand that man can kill simply for a symbol of status - ivory.

A child would instinctively say, "As white as snow";  "As bright as the sun";  "As big as an elephant."  What will they say when all of the elephants are dead?

Contrary to popular belief,  poaching is still a big business, despite the efforts to curb the needless killing.  Ivory is still wildly available across the globe.  It is still classed as a luxury.

Most governments have ceased to import ivory, hoping it will lead to the end of poaching.  But it is not working.  The poachers of Africa still risk their lives in the hunt.

The intricate workmanship on some magnificent ivory carvings can make us all stand and gaze in awe, but the better understanding of how ivory is obtained has made us start to view these objects in a completely new light.  We can no longer admire what we have come to realise.

There is no justification for wholesale slaughter of noble animals just for us to admire a carving.

Until we all class an ivory ornament as repulsive, vulgar and unrefined, the slaughtering will continue.

An elephant is intelligent, friendly, trusting. They have feelings just like our own; joy, pride, sadness, dejection, dignity, shame, loneliness.

An elephant will bury a fellow member of the herd when it is killed. And it will morn it's death, shedding tears.

An orphan elephant would never forget watching the slaughter of its family.  It would cry out for its mother well into its adult life.

A large graceful creature - Is an elephant not scared of a mouse?

I am amazed that any rational human being would be involved in bringing about the extinction of creatures of such grandeur and might.  It makes one reflect on who exactly, is the animal.

I have no children of my own, as yet, but I could not imagine a childhood without 'effelents', as I so fondly remember them.  I know that my voice is one small voice.  But if all the small voices in the world could unite, then the resulting shout must be heeded by those who can do something about this tragedy.

To the poachers, killing is just a way of making a living.  To the elephants, it is an end to living.  And to the children it would be never knowing.

©2013 Kari Milburn

The High Street

Today, another giant on the High Street has gone into administration. As HMV searches high and low for a saviour, I ask one simple question... does it really matter that much?! What's wrong with change?

The internet has changed the way we shop, and we have grasped it with open arms, welcomed it into our lives and wondered how we ever survived without it. So this is our doing... Jessops, Comet, HMV... and thats not to mention the hundreds of others, large and small.

Who remembers when C&A went belly up? The eighties recession saw many fall by the way side. But the High Street survived. It faced adversity in the face and poked its tongue out at it.

Everything changes all the time. I remember record shops (proper record shops) and tobacconists on every corner. I remember sweet shops and even sticker shops! I remember milk men and post being delivered before 7am. 3 TV channels and car stereos that only had radios. Progression and change go hand in hand, sadly. You cant have one without the other.

So to those people saying that its a shame HMV are in administration, I say stop buying on iTunes and Amazon. Cancel your subscription to Sky Movies and take your CD player out of the attic....

Yeah, right!!!

©2013 Kari Milburn

An average morning with a twist!

I'm currently sat on the train on my way to the big city! It's been a strange morning... I got up late and yet still made it out of the house early (that's just weird). No ice on the car to attack so got to the station with time to spare. Which was a good thing considering that 2 out of 4 ticket machines weren't working!
Even the long queue wasn't daunting. The ladies behind the glass of the ticket kiosks had about as much personality as goldfish, but their speed was unprecedented! It was akin to watching Bolt out of the starting blocks... I took longer getting my card out of my purse!
Then, sat on the train, I checked my books on Amazon as I do every morning, and was pleasantly surprised to find I had made 70p! I am stunned at that considering the books were free for the last week! But I had sold a decent few short stories...
So this is a big shout out to those who purchased! Thank you!
My dad used to say I'd make money off my stories... now just to make a living!!! :)

©2012 Kari Milburn

Forgotten Treasures

Last weekend the strangest thing happened... I found a folder on my PC from August 2009 that I'd not looked at since. Inside it were 10 files with dubious names like Cabbie, The House, and Jerry. Curious, I opened and read what was inside to discover some of the best writing I have ever done. Perplexed, I scoured through it all, only dimly recalling one of the stories called Conaught House.

I had written rather prolifically that summer, it seems,  and it's good. It's very good! 

But I am stunned that I don't seem to remember having written them. I know they're mine. I know my style. I know my warped imagination.  And I know my password to retrieve them... Am I starting to lose my memory?

It appears I've not written anything since. Three and a half years of nothing. Writers block? Nah. Don't believe in it. So why? did my work take all of my time?  It's true I should be a lady of leisure so I can write without the burden of bills, but still... I'd been on a roll!

Perhaps I had left them as a gentle nudge. A gift to push the future me back to writing?

I can confirm, it's worked...

©2012 Kari Milburn

Patience - The Reality

www.dictionary.com
Patience: the quality of being patient is the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.

This, I think, is the best description I have ever read. It explains the frustration and annoyance that patience breeds within us.

It is exasperating!

Take, for example, Christmas. As a child, this is probably the first real test of our patience. You know its coming. The city streets are decorated, and shop windows are full of a million ideas for our Christmas list to Santa. We write that list, post it / give it to parents to forward on for us / pray for it…. Then we have to wait. And wait.As adults, we have to wait patiently for everything – The end of the working week; pay days; the bus or train; traffic lights when we’re in a rush to get somewhere; the phone call or text from the person we want to hear from most; the queues; to be served at the bar; for a real person to pick up the phone while listening to a pre-recorded bitch tell us that our call may be recorded…

Our patience is tested every day.

My patience is wearing very thin at the moment. There are so many things in my life that keep me occupied and busy, but there’s this niggling scratch positioned perfectly just between my shoulder blades that, for love nor money, I can’t reach to scratch. Of course, it’s not a real itch. It’s unreachable because it’s inside. It emanates from the gut, working its way through my nerve endings until I have the urge to scream out loud. My new acronym. SOL. Scream Out Loud. Not the beer.

To all of those people out there who make us wait, I say, stop it.

Anticipation – something similar to patience, but so much more fun! It’s exciting, positive, exhilarating. Its makes you smile. Patience makes me frown. I want to be filled with anticipation. I’d love the person on the end of the phone to be full of life and joyful! To make me forget all of that waiting, to know straight away that it was time very well spent...

Reality sucks.

A Question of Morals

I had a rather heated discussion today with a friend and it's left me curious to what others think on this subject. So this blog invites your thoughts and your opinions. I've done very little research because the discussion was off the hoof. Neither of us really knew the facts... we only had hearsay and our opinions to fight our corner. Hearing your views too could highlight a massive lack of knowledge and understanding that the general public have.

It started with my friend saying how stupid we all are donating our hard earned cash for charities such as Children in Need and Comic Relief when all that money does is line the pockets of dictators like Kuni.

We all know that in some countries around the world,  bribes are a day of life. I've been held at gunpoint in Burma because I refused to pay $200 for a visa I had already paid for in the Burmese Embassy in London. I had my passport confiscated in Russia (a very long time ago) for a similar reason. So if we donate enough to buy a container full of mosquito nets that can potentially save hundreds of children's lives,  why be shocked if the port official wants a thousand dollars?  Or the dictator in power wants a backhand to safely get those nets to where they are needed?

I'm not saying it's right. I'm not saying it's ok. I'm just surprised it's such a shock to some people. Yes,  they tell us every penny goes to help... If this is actually happening, then it's still being spent to improve the whole picture.

Or is it?

Bribes set a precedent. They tell the thieves that the money will keep lining their pockets provided they continue to keep their promises. What promises are kept by liars and thieves and thugs? How many more lives could we save if every penny really did go where it should? How many more malaria drugs, mosquito nets and water pumps could we buy?

Personally, I'm torn. These bastards (pardon the strength of the language) shouldn't be taking a penny. They shouldn't even be in power. So what could we do? Embargoes will only hurt the poorest people most whilst the before mentioned dictator relaxes in comfort... War? We all know how we feel about that idea and the same results would happen... Send in the special forces to 'remove' them? Lower ourselves to their level and open the door to someone else to take over?  Someone else who we don't know and can't bribe?

It's a tough call. Better the Devil you know? Whatever way your opinion falls,  just think about this one question. What is the price of a human life?  Would I pay one asshole a grand to save a hundred children? Too bloody right I would. But as my friend asked, would I pay the same asshole a million?

©2012 Kari Milburn