Old Cass

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Helen shouted. Sarah couldn't discern if her face was distorted in disbelief or terror. Regardless, her mouth was wide open and her eyebrows had disappeared behind her deep red block fringe.

She sat between the two women and shrugged glancing at each of them taking a sip of an orange cocktail through a straw. They were crammed into a small booth in a loud bar playing music with a heavy bass. Helen had already been appalled at the lack of coat check on her way to their minuscule table. She had ordered a round of cocktails 'with umbrellas' for the three of them. Helen had rolled her eyes and crossed her arms across her stomach with her handbag on her lap. Sarah had sat on the other side pf Her and kept her arms on either side of her clasping the bottom of the seat with her fingers leaning forward to ensure she could see both women.

"This is a joke, you're joking." Helen sputtered grasping at the woman's arm. "What are you doing talking to that... that... fuck!" She was wearing a vest made of black leather, her hair was blonde and permed, Sarah couldn't be certain if it was a wig. Her grey empty eyes were rimmed with purple glitter. Sarah thought She looked tired but her amusement at Helen's reaction brightened her features. She shook her head looking down at her drink casually and then looked to her right and caught Sarah's eye with a nonchalant raise her of eyebrows.

"I'm sorry..." Sarah called over the music, "Who is Old Cass?" Helen leaned forward and shot Sarah a glare across the mound of platinum curls. Sarah had never heard the name but suddenly felt exposed under Helen's glowering. It seemed to be the first true point of contention Sarah had witnessed between the women and She was very much enjoying herself.

"You'll have seen her in something old probably. Not that she's relevant any more." Helen explained, "She's an actress."
"Thespian." She interjected.
"Old bat." Helen spat draining her glass with a grimace.
"Old friend." She said turning to Sarah with a smile
"I would hope not." Helen declared darkly.

5 years ago

“Goodness gracious it’s cold out here. Elvis did I bring a scarf?” An elderly woman shrouded in a thick layer of fur turned to her tall impeccably suited and incredibly tall gentleman with a full head of slicked black hair. He began to pat the pockets of his jacket with little success. 

“Why on earth my granddaughter would want her birthday of all things in a place like this is beyond my understanding. Good Lord Elvis do you have the scarf or not?”

The Goliath's lips were down-turned in a thin line as he shook his head morosely looking down at the smaller frame of his employer her smooth golden bonnet of hair bobbing below him furiously.

“Then don’t just stand there, let’s move, we’re never going to get there at this rate. Do you know? I said you should have hired a car. This is outrageous, expecting me to walk out here in this dreadful place exposed to the elements. Don’t pout Elvis.” She looked up at him her green eyes lined with black, daubed with effervescent blue eye-shadow. She reminded him of his elderly aunt but without the kindness in her eyes. He quickly made an effort to adjust his facial features uncertain of how his mouth was set and how to prevent it from pouting.

Cassandra had ventured into the Commercial District for her granddaughter’s birthday party with the aim of attending and presenting the child with an envelope of money. She would then drink a large glass of expensive wine, resolutely ignoring her son-in-law and leave briskly to return to her apartments in the Quadrangle. She did not intend to stay a minute longer than was absolutely necessary. She had initially felt no desire to attend the gathering however she had received a painting from the child depicting the family all together smiling. Cassandra appreciated that her likeness was wearing pearls and sunglasses. The crude figures were surrounded by boxes of what could be presumed colourfully wrapped presents but were brown mixed smudges. The emotional blackmail had successfully moved Cassandra sufficiently to make an appearance. 

Unfortunately due to the length of time it had taken for the painting to thaw through Cassandra’s icy exterior she had failed to make any travel arrangements and had simply marched out of her apartment on a whim. She should have been meeting with Ellis and Duncan, associates who had travelled from the north to visit the Big Smoke and take in the sights. The thought of entertaining the pair had suddenly seemed incredibly dreary and Elvis had said they took her cancellation over the telephone politely. Elvis had chosen not to elaborate on Duncan's hurt tone and disappointed sigh. It hadn't felt appropriate to discuss further as Ms Calvert had already wandered into the hallway and was struggling with her coat. 

The streets downtown in the Commercial District were a complex maze of skyscrapers crammed with shops on each floor and signs adorning the sides in neon lights depicting the names of the various businesses and enterprises jostling for the opportunity to remain in business. Cassandra had deemed the metal concrete buildings garish and unsightly. There were no skyscrapers in the Quadrangle, only antiquated esoteric buildings which had been restored and preserved to their original beauty over the years. It could feel like exploring the pages of a history book wandering through the pedestrianised quiet of the Quadrangle, there was a safety and vibrancy which faded as soon as one passed into the rest of the city. It was all muted greys and blacks, neon glowing garishly defining the separations between each dreary tightly packed buildings. Cassandra had heard in the Business District the architecture was more varied however travelling there would require compulsion to travel to the opposite side of the Quadrangle which Cassandra rarely had any reason to visit.

“Would you hurry up Elvis? Stop dragging your feet man. We are going to be late!” She snapped viciously turning to look at the man in the black coat and white shirt tie surveying the area around him with grim fascination. “And then I will never hear the end of it…” She added under her breath. She wondered if it would be worth calling a car from someone somewhere to navigate the area more successfully. The map Elvis had displayed on his mobile phone had suggested the journey on foot from the Watchtower would take ten minutes.

Elvis had spotted several suspicious individuals, there was a girl sitting in the gutter smoking cigarettes shivering against the cold air. He deemed her with the potential to spread disease. He determined her sunken grey eyes and pallid skin were dead giveaways. Also the smoke could enrage Ms Calvert, she didn't like her coat to smell of outside odours. There was also a couple walking ahead both in fitted trench-coats, they appeared affluent but that could be a ruse. He couldn’t determine if they were concealing any weapons to dismember a frail old woman. Their loud conversation seemed to be a distraction, this could also cause Ms Calvert some level of irritation. Finally he noted there was the man with the large feet trying to hail a taxi, what abnormally large feet they were, where did he even buy shoes? Elvis considered asking the gentleman about his shoe purchases.

Cassandra let out a loud terrified shriek as a figure brushed past Elvis and rammed into the older woman snatching her purse and racing down the street. The young woman in the gutter sprang to her feet and cried out hysterically before chasing frantically after the figure.

“Oh oh!” Cassandra was trying to hold her hair in place as Elvis appeared by her side and steadied her. “Elvis! Where the bloody hell were you? That man has my bag!” She turned and pointed in the direction the figure had ran toward and they watched as the frail girl rammed into the figure knocking him to the floor. A loud scream erupted from both parties melding to create a loud echo above the din of the city. “Oh.” Cassandra intoned with surprise shuffling towards the pair with Elvis striding behind her.

Elvis and Cassandra approached the mix on bodies on the floor illuminated with a lamppost situated directly next to them. The girl had straddled the man’s chest and was pounding at his bloodied face. He had black skin and closely shorn hair and was wailing in agony. Her hands were balled tightly as she struck at him repeatedly tears streaming from her eyes as she sobbed and gasped openly. Cassandra’s handbag lay on the pavement next to them, its contents scattered everywhere. Elvis bent down gingerly to gather up the items and handed the bag to his employer who observed the scene dispassionately.

“Okay, that’s enough, Elvis?” Cassandra nodded to her bodyguard. The larger man clasped the young woman’s shoulders, his wide hands covering most of small frame. She rose to her feet unsteadily and clambered away from the bleeding man on the floor as Elvis gripped her gently supporting her. “Is he alive?” Cassandra asked Elvis as he released the young woman and turned to her. Elvis shrugged and glanced at the sprawled body and noted that there was an unmistakeable soft rise and fall from his chest. He nodded to the older woman who sighed deeply.

The young woman with bloodied knuckles was lighting a cigarette she had produced from her loose pockets. None of her clothes seemed to fit her and everything was baggy and torn as if they had been hanging from her back for weeks. She held out the carton absentmindedly toward Cassandra as she inhaled deeply. Cassandra shook her head and smiled briefly. She was barely a girl and she was wiping her damp hollow cheeks with her fingers distractedly with black encrusted fingernails.

“Well, I must say thank you.” Cassandra said piercing the silence. The girl nodded looking off into the distance taking the cigarette from her mouth to exhale. “Are you homeless?” Cassandra asked abruptly. The girl turned her head and pointedly stared at Cassandra, grey eyes wide and glistening, her mouth was slightly agape. At that moment she was trying to calculate the correct answer in this scenario and relented with a slight bob of her head.

“Well then.” Cassandra was satisfied, “I am a patron of a homeless charity of some sort and I believe that I should do my part to repay you for your assistance. Elvis, we’re going back to the Quadrangle.” She took the girl’s arm in hers and the girl was dragged towards her suddenly rubbing against her fur coat. Cassandra considered the cost of the garment being steam cleaned before taking the girl’s hand and nudging their bodies apart at an arms-length.
“Did I ask you your name?” Cassandra asked Her.
“No.” The girl answered curtly.
“Oh Elvis do hurry up!” Cassandra was distracted by the larger man shuffling behind them surveying the area carefully before following the women.

As they approached the Watchtower, one of the access points for the Quadrangle, Cassandra had declared bitterly that she had not chosen the correct shoes for this amount of walking. The structures were created from converted ground floors within several buildings in a street which had been merged and converted into a hallway. Offices and shops were maintained above and the buildings looked no different from a birds-eye perspective.

“Just don’t say anything and take her through one of the gates.” Cassandra had advised Elvis as they walked through the sliding doors into the pale cavernous room. The structure which appeared to be a standard city block from outside looked like an aircraft hanger once inside. Cassandra rummaged through her bag and produced her resident card which she swiped at the turnstile before marching unblinking through the gate toward the full body scanner ahead. She heard a commotion as a security guard ran towards Elvis at the turnstiles.

“I’m sorry but you can’t take that with you.” A woman in a baseball cap called sidling past Cassandra and positioning herself at the turnstile opposite Elvis. A loud bleeping noise was emanating from the turnstile and it appeared to be blocked preventing him from walking through.
“Well don’t be ridiculous!” Cassandra called towards the woman imperiously.
Elvis looked towards her with the girl who had been slung over his shoulder. He was holding her ankles at his collarbone with one hand, attempting to swipe his worker’s card on the scanner to no effect. The girl’s stringy mousy hair hung limply around her skull as she faced Elvis’ back unmoving.

“That’s my bodyguard and he bringing some important luggage with him.” Cassandra declared approaching the security guard with her black baseball cap and bulletproof vest.

“Ma’am I’m sorry, that is not luggage. That is a person. I can’t let her through if she doesn’t have the correct identification.” The security guard declared bluntly. "Everyone has to swipe here."
“Well this is absolutely ridiculous.” Cassandra seethed, “I am a resident here. I should be able to transport my property.”
“Okay, I get what you’re trying to do but from my perspective you’re trying to smuggle someone into the Quadrangle and that is a breach of security.” The woman in the cap sighed monotonously.

“Elvis!” Cassandra barked, “You had better have brought your wallet.”
“Okay, if you’d like to follow me Ma’am.” The woman swiped her own card against the barrier and nudged Cassandra back through towards the other side gathering the group and walking towards the eastern wall of the Watchtower. Cassandra looked at the long line of empty turnstiles and body scanners, she sighed briefly. Well at least it was a quiet evening in which no one would see this debacle. Perhaps the luggage comment had been ill-conceived. Could the girl pass off as a member of her family she wondered?

They found themselves a small grey windowless room, the security guard sat across from the three who were seated at a white plastic table polished to gleam in the fluorescent light.
“Simple question,” The security guard spread her hands openly in front of her, “Do you have any documentation?” She referred to the frail girl who in response shook her head.
“She’s homeless!” Cassandra announced.
“No paperwork at all, huh?” The security guard chose to ignore Cassandra. Instead she referred directly to the girl who could be no more than just past her 20^th birthday. “And what business do you have in the Quadrangle this evening?”
The girl shrugged, Cassandra looked across Elvis exasperatedly.

“Look, she’s my long lost daughter and we met in the most dire of circumstances and now I simply must take her home and recover our lost time.” Cassandra’s voice was filled with anguish, “Surely you, Dylan, must be able to empathise with us.”

“My mum used to love your old films Ms Calvert.” The security guard said wistfully having observed the lightning fast change of tack with some admiration, “And I appreciate that you read my name tag but I can’t just let anyone through the barrier.”
Cassandra groaned loudly and whispered in Elvis’ ear, his hand reached into his jacket pocket and produced a leather wallet. He produced a wad of notes from and placed them on the table in front of him stoically.

Dylan reached across and took the small stack of cash, she stood up to put it in her trouser pocket and returned to her seat arms crossed over her chest.

“I need to prove that this girl here is not a threat to the residents of the Quadrangle. Prove it and she can go through.” Dylan leant back in her chair.

The girl rose to her feet timorously and removed her large hooded jacket, this exposed her skeletal arms, she shook the mounds of material, a packet of cigarettes crushed and flecked with grime fell to the table, a lighter clattered onto the gleaming plastic shortly after. The girl then proceeded to remove the layers of clothes she was wearing. All of the clothes were grey with grime as she piled them carelessly onto the table in front of her.

“I like her.” Cassandra muttered marvelling at the girl as she gradually removed and shook each item of clothing.

She stood shivering completely naked, her arms clasped together in front of her, fingers interwoven, elbows knocking together, her upper thighs rubbed together awkwardly. Her emaciated body was grey and withdrawn under the fluorescent lighting. Dylan noted she was malnourished and potentially a drug addict but she wasn’t carrying anything to indicate this.

“Fine.” Dylan declared as she rose to her feet. “I’ll let you through.”
The girl snatched her underwear from the table hurriedly redressing. Elvis was frowning at the ceiling, Cassandra clasped her hands in delight.
“And I promise not to let her bite anyone.” Cassandra declared jovially.

Cassandra was finally back at her apartment and waltzed through door gracefully delighted to be home. The mahogany front door slammed behind Elvis as the group stood in the hallway. Cassandra’s furs were dropped on the floor and shoes kicked against a wall as she glided into the living area.
Elvis and the girl stared blankly at one another, he walked to the fur and picked it up to place it in the hallway cupboard gingerly, She stood silently and observed.

“And they told me to not bring a gun to a child’s birthday party. Ridiculous!” Cassandra muttered appearing in the hallway as Elvis turned towards her. The girl blinked and saw the splatter of blood on the wall and heard the piercing bam! Elvis slumped to the floor a red hole in his forehead, a pool of blood seeping from his skull onto the floorboards. She leapt back as Cassandra appeared beside her.

“You big oaf!” She snarled, “I could have died!” Cassandra kicked him in the side with her pointed toes. The girl looked at Cassandra, grey watery pools wide with disbelief.
“Oh where are my manners?” Cassandra declared, “Would you like a drink? Come now dear.” She was taken by the arm and led away.

Back at the Bar

"She has a proposition." The Wraith said briefly. "She asked for my help."

"You are not doing anything that awful woman tells you." Helen seethed, "You don't have to do anything for her."
She smiled at Helen, "She has one final job for me." 

And again

"I don't care how." 

Sarah shuddered at the sound of the voice, low and gravelled uttering it's condemnation. The disembodied sound hung in her ears as she listened to the silence on the tape recorder. Her thumb depressed the plastic button and the machine clicked to a stop. The sound of unctuous silence which had hung between them had been recorded in all of it's humiliating glory.

"Is this what you wanted?" She asked no one in particular. Walter was nestled in a content circle next to her, white fur and gentle purrs. Sarah distractedly rested her hand on the warm body pressed against her feet as she sat on her sofa. The flat-screen television had been a recent addition to her tiny apartment and it was currently displaying a mixture of flashing lights and flaming debris.

"Don't tell you I never get you anything." Donovan had beamed as he had a presented the oversized cardboard box with a flourish. Sarah felt at pains not to advise Donovan he regularly bought her things she did not want nor need. Her apartment was filled with expensive wines and whiskeys and there was subscription to a magazine advertising chrome car parts which was delivered on a monthly basis. She rarely invited him but he was a regular visitor and he had made himself very much at home.

Sarah hadn't the heart to tell him to leave when the intercom buzzed in the early hours of the morning and she could see the small grey blurry face smiling up at the camera with down-turned eyes and slumped shoulders. She would leave in the morning and he would be gone on her return. The cat would take a keen interest in the ashtray Donovan had filled, that Sarah had never bought, and would smell like smoke.

"What did he say?" Sarah recalled Her asking bluntly. She was dressed in a baggy black t-shirt with holes speckled across it. Her hair was a light grey and scraped against her skull in a loose ponytail. Sarah thought She looked more tired than usual. Her cheeks were stretched against her bones and her eyes enshrouded with purple.

It had been a few nights prior and they had been sitting on the white leather sofa whilst Donovan busied himself with wires and plugs, clear plastic bags and Styrofoam littering the rug next to them. The cat had hidden in the box and was not coming out.
"Not much." Sarah had tried to elaborate, "He was very blunt."
"Sounds about right." Donovan had muttered under his breath, he was holding an instruction manual close to his nose as he sat on the floor cross legged in pale shorts and flip-flops.
"You're not here." She had snapped. Donovan said they called her the Wraith. No one believed she existed. Sarah sometimes had brief flashes of concern that they had dreamt her into existence.

"And you don't have the tape?" She asked Sarah, her eyebrows were furrowed and hands clasped on her lap. She was sitting facing Sarah with her legs crossed on the sofa. Sarah was sitting with her feet on the floor watching Donovan distractedly trying not to catch Her gaze.

"It was an accident." Sarah had muttered. The tape was an object of shame, a failure. Sarah had grown to master the art of conversation or at least she believed she had. A client would approach her and she would take charge of the meeting and their deepest desires and thoughts would be revealed in a matter of alcoholic units. It had taken some time to master the art of judging how best to approach each person but Sarah found that all it took was open-ended questions and an earnest smile.

"And you do whatever I ask?" He had asked and Sarah had felt her skin prickle at the matter-of-fact approach. The implications of the question made Sarah feel that he had undressed her with his gaze, her discomfort was on full display. She had lost the upper hand immediately and she felt aware that they both knew this. His drink remained untouched and she declined the offer to buy one for herself.

Sarah had told Her when asked that the tape had been wiped. As soon as they had walked through the door and Donovan had finished displaying his overly large cardboard box. He had dumped this in the living area and retired to the kitchenette as Sarah had led Her to the sofa.
"The dog ate my homework." Donovan had snorted unhelpfully as he stood over the sink filling a glass with water and leaning against the counter-top. His hair was swept upwards like the bristles of a broom, the golden tips dusted the ceiling. Sarah shot him admonishing glare and he had shrugged casually in response.

"I believe you're aware of the service we offer, sir." Sarah had felt sickened with herself as she had reverted to a role of subservience.
"It doesn't matter." Sarah had said quickly, "It wasn't a long meeting and he wasn't big on details."
"We have the tapes for a reason." She had said firmly. "You know this."
"Don't you trust me?" Sarah heard the words before she had meant to say them. She looked at Sarah unblinking and calm. Sarah could never read her expression. Sarah wondered if it was possible to hurt Her, with words or otherwise. She was wearing a lace chartreuse scarf around her neck. The colour would clash with the deep pink scar tissue underneath if it was possible to see both.

"I trust you." She had said to Sarah resting her fingers over Sarah's hand which had been resting on her knee. Sarah turned and looked at Her. Her expression was unfathomable.

The news reporter announced that the death toll was currently 8 confirmed and 50 injured. The Watchtowers between the Financial and Commercial had 'lowered the drawbridge' to allow emergency services from the other districts travel to the Quadrangle unimpeded. The military task force responsible for the security of the Quadrangle were on high alert and tracking all movement in each district. Martial law had descended in all but name.

Parliament would be called in the morning for an emergency meeting. How did this happen? People were enraged that the Watchtower system should have increased the security of the city. There were contingency plans for missiles, nuclear warheads, and the like but nothing to prevent a domestic helicopter from crashing into a historical building. The city was bleeding.

"I want them dead."
What if Sarah had described the tape differently to Her. Would that have prevented a helicopter being dropped on the Ballroom? What if She had heard the tape. Would that have changed anything? How was this different from any other 'accident'? Sarah tried to formulate a different outcome. She could have taken control of the man in the bar with the malevolent eyes, she could have been firm with him. Sarah could have denied him what he wanted. What if Sarah had said that the man had not turned up? She would have believed Sarah, She wouldn't have asked questions.

Sarah's phone on the kitchen counter had continued to buzz intermittently through the evening as she stared at the television screen blaring high definition carnage. People wanted to know how this had happened. Sarah felt sick with guilt but she couldn't answer their questions.

The Ballroom

This is the moment you've all be waiting for. The car crash, the spectacle. Blood and viscera, metal and glass, screams of flesh and machinery. All you asked for, She has delivered. She glides through the spectacle like a modern ghost, a wisp of infinity. You get what you paid for, and what you paid for is horror.

This is the ballroom and it is all there ever was. The oldest grandest ballroom in the city. The chandelier which had proudly hung glittering and enormous in the centre is a smattering of a shards on the marble floor. The ceiling has caved in all that remained was plaster and brick. The husk of machinery had pierced through the dome from above and destroyed all that was below. You asked for this. She has no shame, no regrets. What did you expect?

Sarah sat in her apartment, white leather sofa, cotton pyjamas, the rolling news cycle repeatedly displaying flashing images of carnage. Walter sits on her lap, a purring throw pillow nestled next to her feet curled up beside her. Dark fingers gathering and releasing tufts of fur in one hand, a glass of deep red burgundy resting in her other. The goblet hovering near her cheek. Her down-turned eyes reflecting the tragedy, her forehead smooth, her mouth a crescent grimace. Black headphones resting in her ears, the tape-recorder attached resting on her lap embedded in folds of pale cotton.

"What can I do to help?" Her voice was higher than she was accustomed to, it sounded disconnected. Sarah recognised the polite emptiness in her tone. She had asked that question so many times and it had lost all meaning. She wasn't trying to help. Sarah didn't want to help anybody. Everyone had disappointed her and dampened her belief in humanity which had been carefully constructed through her childhood. Her journey toward maturity had been a gradual understanding that people were not inherently good. People were in fact selfish and destructive and adulthood was a rite of passage that taught people their selfishness had no consequence. More specifically, that any consequences could be ignored with enough selfishness.

"Kill them all." The low voice had responded.
Sarah had not responded, there had been a long crackling as the tape continued to record and the silence was committed to memory. She recalled the unchanged expression on the man's face and the matter of fact tone. Sarah recalled revulsion growing in the pit of her stomach. It coiled through her insides and made it uncomfortable for her to sit still. She had wanted to move, to leave, to remove herself from the moment that was unfolding. She had sat perfectly still holding his unblinking gaze.

"I don't care how." The voice continued after the interminable silence. "I want them dead." The voice cut through the low buzzing.

The helicopter had crashed into the ballroom at quarter past ten in the evening. There had been an award ceremony taking place, the Institute of Financial Leaders had arranged it to award the 'leading lights' in the industry. The ballroom had been set up with a stage, a large red curtain hung behind it with podium glowing under spotlights. There had been an arrangement of tables with centrepieces which looked like weeping willows.

Sarah had shifted in her seat as the man had stared at her, "I understand." She had walked away at that point. The tape became a cacophony of screeching chair legs and her handbag rattling. She walked away and the noise turned into random conversations melding into a singular hum of voices.

The news reporter with the perfectly styled hair and navy blue jacket dictated the details of the images being shown. Thus far the death toll was unknown.

Sarah could hear a piercing vibrating noise angrily buzzing against the kitchen counter behind her. She removed her hand from her cat's warm fur and fumbled for the tape-recorder, her thumb depressed the rewind button as she started the tape from the beginning once again.

"-any need for introductions." The lower voice had said coolly. He hadn't shook her hand, he had barely acknowledged her as he sat down. Sarah had felt uneasy from the moment he had appeared. The meeting had lasted less than five minutes. He had been in control the entire time and she had been beholden to his request. To his intense stare. To his request.

"And you do whatever I ask?" He had sounded almost curious as Sarah had settled in the seat opposite him at the bar near the docks. He had a pint glass of golden beer in front of him untouched and speckled with condensation. Sarah had not ordered a drink. She hadn't been sure about the nature of the meeting.

"My associate will be responsible for putting your request into action." Sarah sounded coy, almost flirtatious on the tape. She could hear the light playful tone in her voice as she toyed with the idea of charming this blunt and unnerving man. He hadn't reciprocated and Sarah recalled feeling embarrassed as he had rudely ignored her attempts at being personable.

Had Sarah known that Her interpretation of the request had been to crash a helicopter into the middle of the Quadrangle would this have changed the way she handled the situation? Should Sarah have handed the tape across as was the usual order of business? Why did she keep this tape and simply paraphrase the conversation? What if something had been missed?

Sarah stared at a terrified patron of the awards ceremony, tracks of mascara on her cheeks, hair with dust and frayed edges, frantically describing the carnage to the reporter. Sarah's eyes lost focus and rather than a victim or a survivor, Sarah saw her associate talking through the television. Was it actually her? The grey eyes, the sunken cheeks, the slash of deep red across her neck. 

"Kill them all." 

Why would anyone want this? Sarah wondered as the phone on the kitchen counter continued to buzz incessantly against the smooth surface. She had simply been the messenger. The conveyor belt carrying the request to the instigator. The woman that had no name. The woman responsible for the helicopter dropping from the sky but not for the death and the carnage.

"Are you the trigger or the bullet?" Sarah had been asked once.
"Who is holding the gun here?" Sarah had responded.
"They are." The proverbial 'they', the one that gives the order.
"Then it doesn't matter what part of it I say I am." Sarah had said smoothly.

Sarah stared at the television screen, the voice of the client playing on repeat in her ears. They didn't know how people had survived or how many people had died. Sarah closed her eyes to block out the images on the screen.

"I understand." Her mechanical voice smoothly advised. What had she expected?

This is a show tune...

...but the show hasn't been written for it yet.

When I'm lost and have no direction I end up finding this song. It's been there through so many difficult times and it's (in my opinion) one of the most powerful songs in history. I'd struggle to name another one but my knowledge does not extend so far.

Every version I've managed to find of Mississippi Godamm is different and every time Nina has that same rage and spirit coursing through it. Sometimes she'll make a wry comment as she maintains that pulsing beat.

Why don't you see it, why don't you feel it? I don't know. I don't know.

The historical significance of Nina Simone fiercely singing with all of her strength about the inequality in her country and the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960s is breathtaking and inspirational. The song highlights significant events at that time but then again, couldn't you continue adding to that list?

Her passion and fury are so raw and she is using her (amazing) talent to highlight the injustices of the racist system she lived within. I can never appreciate the indignities faced or the inequality but I can feel it. A song that's more than 50 years old reaching through time and still searing.

I've been struggling this week especially as it's come to an end. Not much can be done on a weekend and I'm just waiting now. I had an interview with a charity today and I tried to emphasise how much I just want to help people. It's going to be a little while before I hear back (2 endless weeks). If I don't get the job offer I'll have to move on to the next and make do.

I've gone through every charity based in the city (there are 485) and currently there are no others I can work for earning a living wage. This is my chance to do something meaningful. Now that I've got time to wait my thoughts keep snapping back to 'what if I'm not good enough'. I wasn't good enough before, it's likely it could happen again. I had another interview but it was a different industry. Good customer service is helping people too I suppose.

Where am I going? What am I doing? I don't know. I don't know.
Just try to do your very best 
Stand up be counted with all the rest

I'm re-framing a Civil Rights song and it's probably not something I should do. But those feelings of frustration and helplessness are universal. The song was written to give a voice to those sensations so that everyone could understand. From my tiny insignificant daily struggles and in my low moments I can feel them too. I really hope with every fibre inside of me that her song reached everyone and made them understand too.

Now Youtube is cycling through old Nina and Ella songs with a couple Billie Holiday. I need to feel someone else's feeling for a short while.

Survival

It feels like time has slowed to a painfully arduous rate. Should I treat this time, I suddenly have an abundance of, like a holiday? Absolutely not, I should engage in self-flagellation and self-recrimination applying for jobs constantly.

I've had an ongoing headache and stomach discomfort since Monday which feels like aeons ago. If I asked the doctor they would say I was doing this to myself and that there is nothing they can do. I've been told this before and then I got depressed. But what I was before I suppose we'll never know. I forgot that person.

My day has started super early as my partner left for work, this makes the day longer but as we've agreed it maintains a routine. A routine where I make a cup of tea and retire to bed with the curtains wide open and my laptop and notepad in front of me.

Notepad has become my best friend as I indulge it with scrawling hieroglyphics depicting attempts at making something of myself. It's just a list of where I've applied for jobs adorned with doodles.

This is all procrastination. I have a phone-call this morning with a bank based in Leeds, they rejected me on the interview stage previously but I have always considered them a missed opportunity. Then I have a phone-call this afternoon with a debt charity based in the city-centre which also have rejected me at a previous juncture. Here I go, tail between my legs to try again. I got past the telephone stage for both of those employers previously and this morning I have myself wholly convinced I will fail miserably when speaking to them again.

Be honest. Be clear. Dazzle them.

My notepad has a sordid history. It still has notes from my most recent interview. The interview which led me down the path into the job which landed me in this position. Of course, the circumstances are not to blame when clearly I was the main contributing factor. I am a dazzling interviewee and an abject failure in reality. They realised this. I disappointed them.

I had a theory I would be excellent at speed-dating. I make a somewhat excellent first impression and then my frayed edges and deeply unlikable contradictory notions destroy all semblance of competence. I've no reason to go speed-dating as I am matrimonially inclined with my partner. I forgot to mention in my previous post we had visited a wedding venue. All of the money I saved up for a deposit will likely go toward my ongoing survival.

How can I be so pessimistic? I have two telephone interviews not even two days after walking away from my previous job? This could be good! I mean one of them is a speculative call rather than a proper interview, it's a foot in the door though. Would they judge me too harshly if my gaping wounds wept down the phone? Don't answer that.

I just read through this. I am damn pretentious. Why do I use long words? Does it make me feel smart? No, I just can't think of a straightforward way to say something so I throw a bunch of syllables out with a vague hope it makes sense.

I'm so nervous.

April 2018

Been a big month. A confusing and distracting one. Whenever I've felt down I've put my Star Wars blu-ray on for my sins. John Williams score and beautiful faces soothe me.

My partner had emergency surgery to remove his appendix. I arranged previously to cycle off my antidepressants and this came to an end. Then on the last day of the month I lost my job. This implies that I misplaced it but as it turns out, my best efforts and the environment did not work out in my favour. I start this new month unemployed. Have no fear, I am inexplicably torn up about this. The last film on my watch list ended up being a bit of a self-inflicted burn it would seem.

April

2/4 STARDEW VALLEY (Finished Spring Year 1)
3/4 Joel McHale Show (1) Riverdale (1)
4/4 Baden Baden (2016) Serial Mom (1994)
7/4 Writing Session (blog 3,051 words) STARDEW VALLEY (Finished Summer Year 1)
8/4 Jane the Virgin (1) Joel McHale Show (1) Unreal (2) UNCHARTED 4 (5 chapters completed)
9/4 Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)
10/4 Star Wars: The Last Jedi – DVD Bonus Features
11/4 Unreal (1)
12/4 UNCHARTED 4 (6 chapters completed) The Last Picture Show (1971) Snow Canon (2011)
13/4 UNCHARTED 4 (12 chapters, game completed)
14/4 Strange Days (1995) UNCHARTED 4 (Speed Run – finally obtained platinum trophy!)
15/4 Documenteur (1981) Marie Antoinette (2006) STARDEW VALLEY (Finished Fall Year 1) Ishtar (1981) Joel McHale Show (1) It’s Always Sunny (1) (Cereal Defence) Bottle Rocket (1996)
16/4 All I Desire (1953) STARDEW VALLEY (Finished Winter Year 1) Magnificent Obsession (1954)  All That Heaven Allows (1955)
17/4 Unreal (1) As You Are (2015) STARDEW VALLEY (Finished Spring Year 2)
18/4 Tootsie (1982)
19/4 Jane the Virgin (1) Riverdale (1) Selma (2014)
20/4 Jane the Virgin (1) Caramel (2007) Happy Anniversary (2018)
22/4 The Fall (2006) Joel McHale Show (1) STARDEW VALLEY (Finished Summer Year 2)
23/4 Santa Clarita Diet (Season 1) (1)
24/4 Unreal (2) Written on the Wind (1956) Chefs Table (1)
25/4 Jane the Virgin (1) A History of Korea Kyung Moon Hwang (2010) 280p
26/4 Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)
28/4 Gholam (2017) Riverdale (1) The Squid and the Whale (2005) Point Break (1991)  The Hitman’s Bodyguard (2017) STARDEW VALLEY (Finished Fall Year 2)
29/4 The Awful Truth (1937) North by Northwest (1959) Bridge of Spies (2015) The Avengers: Infinity War (2018)
30/4 Star Wars: The Last Jedi (Director’s Commentary) STARDEW VALLEY (Finished Winter Year 2) There’s Always Tomorrow (1956)