Well it's Christmas time. With Christmas time comes Christmas cheer and Christmas gifts wrapped with manufactured tacky patterned paper, kept together with whatever tape that can be found around the house. Duct tape, normal tape, brown tape, masking tape and maybe even electrical tape if you're feeling mighty tight and that's all you can find. Some will open with absolute awe for the gift they have received. Not exactly what they wanted, but something much much more better. I remember back when I was young, I wanted a Playstation 2. However, I was told time and time again I wasn't allowed it. Stuff about it being too expensive. However, the day came, I opened my gift and I got the Playstation 2. Honestly, I was ecstatic. What I honestly didn't expect was a free DVD (which ended up stolen) and about ten or twenty games which weren't blind shots in the dark but obviously well chosen. Sure, the Fifa game wasn't good, but we all have holes in our perfect patches of green grass called our garden. The first game that springs to mind is Devil May Cry. That game was only just starting up then and I had never heard of it. Look at it now. Devil May Cry 3 ended up a shit ton of fun as well and probably sits among the best games I had ever gotten, maybe Devil May Cry sits there too. I'm not sure.

Some people will also receive gifts they don't want but have to strain a smile through their teeth to say how appreciative they are. Honestly, I've only had to encounter something very similar once, and well it's safe to say it didn't end well as I was too young to understand that sometimes you should just force a smile than tell the truth. However, is it possible to fake a smile when you're younger than thirteen when you've received socks from the home-town of your grandparents, knowing too well that your cousins got interesting gifts from Australia? Beyond is it possible but is it right?

To round off the Christmas speech and to commence the stories (the unfinished novel which I promised will be in the next news post), I will quote what someone said on ITV news recently of what Christmas is all about: "Spending lots of money, getting drunk and being with people you don't like".

Discriminative

I'm sat on the window-sill smoking trying to work out what date, day or even what month it is; I know it's 2002 but that's it. I shouldn't smoke, but it's the only way I know to relieve myself of the mental panic going on in my head like a ball in a pinball machine. It's amazing how life becomes suddenly more significant, how birds seem brighter, the trees seem greener and the air seems fresher when you can feel the clock ticking in your chest towards the end.

And life goes on.

A few months ago, I got stabbed by someone who had a few too many drinks at a pub. I survived and even got a scar to prove the incident happened, but I lost enough blood to warrant a blood transfusion. I managed to get enough blood to survive, but the blood that was donated was, at the time of someone donating it, probably in the early stages of being infected with AIDS. A few months later, I became sick and found out I had AIDS.

And life goes on.

However, the big question of how it happened hung over my head. My theory of it being a faulty transfusion remains, but no one believes me. My girlfriend has left me since and my family have abandoned me because I must have been cheating on her or taking hard drugs, neither I have ever done in my life. I still had my job for a while until the amount of discrimination that I'm either a closet homosexual or a drug addict...It just drove me mad to the point where I just lashed out one person who I was sure mumbled under his breath "druggie". I lost my job since it was viewed that I could of transferred the disease. I now work minimum wage, live on a day-to-day basis and communicate to no one since I lost all my old friends, my family doesn't want to know me and my ex-girlfriend thinks I'm a piece of shit.

And life goes on.

God. Where Have You Been?

I'm on my knees father, I am a shepherd who's flock has gone astray. The sheep are being lulled into a state of catatonic calmness as they're being tempted by the devil with a pointed index finger curling, uncurling, curling, uncurling towards his prey by the roadside. What is there to do? What can I do to save my flock from being preyed upon by the beasts of hell? A sign lord...Please...

I waited for a while, staring up at the large wooden cross, knelt down on a prayer cushion borrowed from a pew, just between the wall with the cross on it and a table with an assortment of holy items on it. Waiting...Waiting...

I sighed heavily, allowing my head and arms to just collapse in shame. What was wrong? Have I forsaken you god? No message from you and yet I've noticed a deterioration in my sheep. What used to be a crowd of forty respectful participants in the Sunday sermon and sometimes a few questions during the week, has now crept down to fifteen on Sundays; and at least ten people during the week asking for forgiveness for acts they'll on repeat and come back next week or for advise of inane things like who to vote for on America's Got Talent. I rose from my knees and lifted my head back up, with the same weight of shame and self-pity over me. I decide that the best course of action would probably be to retreat back to my slumber and just entertain myself mildly through the joys of American television, American radio or some literature.

Suddenly, I'm woken from slumber on my arm chair by rapping at the door as I lay cross-armed in my arm-chair in front of the television which is playing some random program I lack interest or care in. I look at the time, 01:25am. I sigh to myself and rise from my chair. I plod to the jacket-rack to retrieve my black jacket in a half-awake slumber. I grab the key from key-rack just next to it and make my way to the church doors. "Who is it?" I ask just behind the door. "Lemme-in" a voice mumbled.

I sighed to myself, putting my right fore-arm against the door as I shoved the key into the lock and turned it. A bearded man stumbled into the church, clutching the neck of a bottle of gin, before being able to recover onto his feet with aid of a pew. "Hello Gareth my child" I spoke, sighing under my breath a bit. "Hullo meenista!" he spoke back. While his beard was wild and his clothes a bit dirty, I knew he wasn't a hobo. We had tried to talk to his wife and local police to see if we could get him to an AA meeting or at least cut down a bit. Obviously, judging from the visit I had before me, that hadn't worked. "Hay....Hay...Meenista! I beg forgeevness for ma gluttonay of the whiskay and beer.". Despite feeling like I couldn't pity a being more than I had a minute ago, I let out another sigh. I quickly brushed my left finger to his fore-head, to his belly-button, to the middle of his chest, out to left and then right nipple in the shape of a cross, mumbling a prayer hoping for him to give up an alcoholic life-style. "And now, you are cured of your sins" I announced with an under-tone of annoyance. "Tank joo meesta!" Gareth announced and then stumbled out the door. I locked the door and decided to crawl into bed, after cleaning my teeth and saying a prayer, since it was late.

After what felt like ten minutes (then again, as I observed, ten hours can feel like ten minutes, only thing I really noticed was it was still dark), I heard more banging. I resisted the urge to let out a curse under my breath, as God tends to watch over all at all times. I turned on a small lamp, just loosely shoved my bare feet into slippers since I was in pyjamas already. Suddenly, an unspeakable let alone describable urge came over me; in my flesh, in my blood and in my bones. I reached into my side-table's drawer and clutched a gun I kept in the drawer. Usually it would just lie there, collecting dust in the drawer since the local police basically forced the gun onto me for safety purposes, just encase of encounters (a bit like this) turn violent. I usually refused to even keep the gun on me just because I'd rather be murdered than to murder a poor innocent soul (as demon-like as they seem sometimes). I picked the gun up but kept it in tucked in my trousers with my pyjamas top covering the handle; similar to how I sometimes saw gangsters on streets. Just so I could deal with the man at the door without scaring him with a gun. I approached the door and unlocked it without asking who it was; some how knowing deep down who it would be. Gareth came spilling into the Church, finally finding his footing and something to keep him up right. "Oh maaaanngggg, why didn'tcho warn me you were gonna open!" mumbled in a drunken manner. I could smell the vile stench of alcohol on his breath. I despised his being and wouldn't be surprised if he was drunk on wood varnish. Then again, as the lord teaches, hate the sin, not the sinner...

"I'm sorry Gareth, I really am. It's just it's..." I paused to try to work out what time it was "Really late"
"I'ma...I'ma sorreh vicar but....Do ya hav a light?"
"I'm sorry to say I don't. Is there anything you need to know Gareth or would like to talk about?"
"I'ma...Ya see...I..."

I'm not sure what possessed me to do it and I couldn't tell you even if you asked me even now, but I gripped the gun tucked into my trousers, pulled it out and pointed it at Gareth. Before he could say anything, I pulled the trigger. He went down like a bag of bricks with a hole in his forehead. My gun smoked a bit like a crack in hell opened for a second to allow a little steam to let loose.

I was about to drop to my knees in shock and awe (even if I felt hollow inside) when I saw a liquid oozing from the hole in Gareth's head. A black goo. It rolled down the sides of his head onto the floor into a small pool around his head. The more I looked at the goo, the more I realised that this man, wasn't a man, but rather a beast. A monster sent to take apart society from the inside. This was why I was losing my flock...This was why-...

I suddenly woke up from the dream, sweat pouring down my back and staring at the ceiling. I spoke out loud "Lord...Is this what you command me?". I turned to my side to see a spot of moon-light creep through a ceiling window and grace my end-table. I'd have to be silly to ignore my lord in this time. It was judgement time for everyone else and I was the judge, jury and executioner. I got out of bed, got my casual white button-up shirt, black trousers and a pair of trainers. I put on a dark green jacket. I then got my gun from my drawer, pocketing the two clips I had as well, and left the church so I may punish the forsaken and save God's children from temptation. As Ezekiel 25:17 speaks: The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.

I am the Shepard in the valley of darkness and it is through my intervention that I must remove the demons of society through steel and powder so I may protect the weak from the tyranny of evil men.

Note: I just feel like adding this: Discriminative was actually originally a story I was going to submit to a raise AIDS awareness contest. After feeling like it just simply wasn't good enough to stand a chance, I never bothered.