Born again Electra 3

Today  the sun is gloriously shining. Today is the day of my rebirth. All my “sins” have been purged. I don’t believe in sin of course, I lost any belief a long time ago. Pleasure and transgression are my only values.

Saïd is gently snoring at my side. I open the curtain and let the bright sunshine in. He stirs, rubs his eyes. He has a beautiful body. Could he be of some use to Dieter and I? Could he help us lure some prey?  Things were getting tedious and I don’t want to let depression get the better of me.

He  kisses my neck very tenderly.image

” You look so much happier this morning. Shall I bring you breakfast in bed?”

I give him my most innocent smile.

” No, let’s go to a café… We’ll have coffee and croissants.”

And here we are, enjoying the French experience. I am just an unwordly British tourist, enjoying simple pleasures, basking under the warm Parisian sun. I am glowing, exultant. Ornella is just a distant memory, slowly decaying in a bin bag. I revel in my ultimate triumph and her ultimate defeat. Life is beautiful.

Electra complex

Dieter is rich. Dieter is sadistic. He is my German lecturer and teacher in the art of cruelty and submission. He enjoys demeaning me and he said I would enjoy it too. And I enjoyed part of it. He says we are two of a kind.

Oh, I remember how we met at the little cafe in front of the Uni. He came and sat next to me. Me the goody goody pupil so desperate for top grades and validation.  School prefect, daughter of an army colonel and all that. I wanted to be recognised by someone exceptional.

” Mind if I join you?” Steely blue eyes staring at me.

” I was just about to leave actually.” I feigned indifference and gave him that disdainful look.

” I won’t stay very long. And I would really like to get to know you better.”

I stayed. That was his first victory. It was far from being his last.

I soon left the digs I was sharing with my friends to move into his flat. The first day I roamed in a bit disorientated. His flat was so pristine and luxurious. I wondered where he got his money from. He told me he had a private income. I did not dare inquire any further. I was dazzled by his brilliance and his intellect. For once I had someone I could look up to. imageimageI was up for anything. Let me repeat this to you. I was up for anything. Restaurants, nightclubs in London, so unlike the local disco in the dump where I come from, fine wines and silk lingerie, and a spot of cocaine now and then. And the sex of course. At first he was gentle and caring but I knew he wanted things to get a bit rougher. I told him I wanted it too…

” Don’t be afraid of hurting me.” I cried a little but there was pleasure in it too.

Today I am wearing the nightdress he bought me for my birthday and lying in bed, stroking his cat Obama, a real persian beauty. That cat was pestering me and nearly tripped me over when he wrapped himself around my leg, purring loudly. I gave him some Sheba to keep him quiet. How can Dieter be so kind to that animal, as cats are by nature untamable? Another of life’s little mysteries…

I am going to have a bath. I want to be nice and fresh when he comes back. He hurt me more the last time we made love. He told me he would rub some cream on me or he would take me to see a doctor.

” She’s a lady. She’ll understand. We just got a bit carried away baby. I love you so much.” I kissed his silky blond hair and blue eyes. My German baby… I want to surrender to him utterly with all my heart, body and soul… Cliché! Time for punishment. What will it be this time?




Vampire Lady

I belong in the woods and I belong to the night. Darkness will overwhelm me, wrap me up in a shroud of mist, and the bright light of the moon will guide me. I feed on strangers’ blood and am stronger than I have ever been… I am soaring above them all.

Owls are hooting , in the distance I can hear a fox barking. I am flying in the icy air and longing to meet my True Lover, my Soulmate of the Night, far beyond the realms of Good and Evil.

I embrace my fate with passion.image

Letter from a creep.

Is anybody out there?

Drowning…drowning when you really feel there is nothing to move forward to…  I am sinking deeper into the muddy waters, the dark recesses of my mind that I keep well hidden from everybody. I am an ordinary guy and you are a very ordinary girl, yes, you, the girl next door who acts so proud of yourself and so uninterested when I exchange a few words with you. I see you carrying your groceries up to your flat or coming back from work tired. You smile to me sometimes but I am just a ghost to you. I don’t look threatening. Did you know I strangled my pet cat when I was a kid? And my parents’ budgie? Could never stand the damn animal. How is that for a chat up line? Would that stir your interest a little? Still don’t like me? Oh well, I like you a lot. You’ve got nothing to fear from me…image


Branksome Dene Chine

Not so safe in Branksome Dene Chine, beware of strangers lurking around the woods, beware of the dashing young aviator with the clear blue eyes, beware of the handsome gentleman, the wolf in sheep’s clothing. And beware of the ghosts that haunt the woods and cliffs as you take a leisurely stroll there with your lover or have your wedding picture taken. For blood has been shed in Branksone Dene Chine.

White sandy beaches, tea shops, hotels, magnificient seaviews, old ladies having scones and cream tea, Tory Party conferences. This is where Tess murdered Sir Alec, the lovable rogue…

Beware of smooth talkers… The Universe does not always reward virtue and innocence. Violence and fickleness can hide under a gentle appearance. Light can conceal darkness…in Branksome Dene Chine or anywhere.

Blood calls out for blood. But the world goes on regardless.

Oh we do like to be beside the seaside… Oh we do like to be beside the sea…

Night Train Angel

Leah is standing on the deserted train platform with her rucksack on, trying to warm her hands in her coat pockets and tapping her feet on the ground. The station looks shabby and desolate. She wraps her scarf tightly around her neck. She really shouldn’t have left her flat this late, but she was feeling so depressed and misses her boyfriend Peter like crazy. So that weekend in Paris was a spur of the moment decision. Even if it meant warning her two roommates at the last minute, packing a few belongings in her bag and dragging herself to the nearest cashpoint at midnight. She has withdrawn 200 euros and made her way to the station where she bought a ticket to the City of Lights on the Brive Paris sleeper train. She is on her way to meet her lover. After all, you only live once  and she would just DIE if she couldn’t see Peter the next day, feel the warmth of his skin against her and the softness of his cuddles. All that matters to her now is him, and to hell with her Erasmus studies in that sedate little French town in the middle of nowhere.   Peter and his dark moods, Peter and his uneven temper, Peter who blows hot and cold but also Peter the history graduate who thinks he belongs to another century, who is romantic and passionate, who cooks her nice meals and prefers letters to texts and emails. Although the tone of his letters had become colder recently. He had hinted at another female he had met at a party, who didn’t leave him indifferent. Leah had to respect his freedom as he respected hers. She had cried, then he had told her she was his only true love, distance was the problem. If they could see each other more often, everything would be different. How about a weekend in Paris to talk things over?

” I’ll get a Eurostar ticket and pay for a cosy little hotel. See you very soon my little duck”.

She checks her last messages on her mobile. It is now completely dark and misty. Two cats are meowing in the distance. Their cries are wild, they seem to be fighting. She can also hear some laughter and music from the nearby bars. Some stay open quite late at night. A woman in a short leather skirt approaches the station, stumbling on her high heels.

” Have you got a fag, love?”she asks Leah. A tall bearded man with a wrinkled face and an angry expression comes running after her and grabs her by the arm. Without a word of protest, she follows him back into one the clubs.

Leah can still hear the raucous laughter of the revellers. Maybe she could go and sit somewhere for a coffee, she is so cold…but those places look too seedy and she doesn’t dare. Her train shouldn’t be too long coming anyway.

She has sent a text to Peter and wants to check her messages. She realises her phone battery is dead. Oh no, not now, when she is so desperate to hear from him… She curses inwardly and tears start flooding her eyes. She has never trusted Peter very much. He has always made it very clear he was a free spirit…as she thought she was too until she met him.

” Are you okay?” She turns around and notices the young stranger standing right besides her. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts she had been totally oblivious to his presence. He is slim, has curly dark hair, a nice tan and very white teeth. He is wearing jeans, a baseball cap and a sweathshirt with some American logo.

” You know, you shouldn’t really be hanging around here on your own right now. It´s not a very safe part of the city.”

” I am waiting for my train. Would you mind if I borrowed your phone for a minute? I just need to call my boyfriend. He should be in Paris by now. I have no battery left and I can pay you for the call.”

– No problem, go ahead. As long as you are safe…”

He hands her his mobile. She tries to ring Peter but there is no reply. He smiles.

” Men are all the same, aren’t they? Hey, don’t panic. He’s probably asleep. You’ve got me to look after you now… By the way, what´s your name?”

” Leah.”

” Mine is Karim.” He has an engaging smile. He offers her a rolled up cigarette and they each get a coffee from the vending machine. She feels a bit better now, comforted by his presence and her stomach warmed up.

” Here’s our train. I’m afraid it´s not the TGV.” An ageing Corail Express that has seen much better days comes crawling into the station. Leah and Karim board carriage number 15.

” Mind if we have a little chat together?”he asks her. “I have some weed with me. No one is going to check on us at this time of night”. She agrees, so desperate for a bit of company.

” So where are you off to?”

” Paris. Just for the weekend. I’m supposed to be meeting my boyfriend.”

” Is it really serious between you two?”

She sighs.

” It´s complicated. I don’t think he’s quite ready to commit.”

” Yeah, I know the feeling. My last girlfriend kicked me out.” He hands her a joint.She inhales deeply. He asks her where she comes from, she says Birmingham, England.

” I am studying for a Law Degree. Then I might do a Master’s Degree. I’m only here for a year. What about you?”

” Oh you know, school’s never been my thing I’m afraid. Now I am going to Paris to stay with some mates and look for work. I lived with my brother in Marseille  when I moved from Algeria. I was only a kid. But there was a civil war in my country for a while. And I found it hard to get used to the French school system. I didn’t speak the language very well. And the other school kids were making fun of me and calling me a dirty Arab.”

” You know, I feel a kind of bond between us.” Leah feels more relaxed with the cannabis. “Maybe because in a way we are both foreign, both lonely. And Peter, he is always so uptight…”

” Perhaps you are an angel and are here to save me.”

” Save you from what?”

” Many things”. He stays silent for a while. The train rattles on the track. She leans her forehead on the window and closes her eyes.

He touches her hand gently.

” Is that a cashmere jumper you’re wearing?

” Yes, it was a Christmas present from my parents.”

” Your skin is so soft Leah. Let me warm your hands.”

He caresses her hands and strokes her hair.

” Have you ever fancied someone on a train before?”

” Well, last year I went on a trip to Spain and I took the train to go to Gibraltar. It was the middle of Summer and we were going through the Andalusian countryside. And I met that gorgeous Australian surfer with his tan and sunkissed hair. We could have…but we didn’t. Maybe I am too much of a Victorian after all. I’ve never been able to really let go of my inhibitions. I have always held back… Although I feel a bit different today…

” Amina was my girl. I was really serious about her. We were going to have a baby and everything. I tried to do everything right for her. But nothing was ever good enough. And it was the same with Karen. Thought she was above me. She told me to leave even though I had a good job and had given up drinking. But you… You could be my woman.”

” I’ll try to help you Karim. But it will only be one night…” She lets her head fall onto his shoulder and awaits his reaction. But he seems to be tensing up. She opens her eyes and he is staring at her with an expression of cold contempt.

” So this is it then. Just like the others. You’re all the same, Karen, Amina, all the same stuck up bitches. Just a bunch of dirty sluts.”

They have reached a signal.

“Karim, what is wrong with you?”

” What is wrong with me? I’ll tell you what is wrong with me if you just listen, bitch! No, don’t try to run away, Karen tried and it wasn’t any use…”

” Let me go please. I’ll do anything.”

Leah has tried to make a way for the door but  he has blocked her exit. He yanks her hair and pins her down to her seat. He tries to fondle her breasts. She pushes him away, kicking and screaming in terror. He puts his hand over her mouth.

” Do you know what it feels like to be rejected? No matter how hard you try, women never think you’re good enough for them. Never. And I’ve tried. I’ve really tried… What do you know about life anyway? Well, I’ll show you. I’ll show you a little bit of life…”

She scratches his face and tries to bite his hand. He slaps her.

” Look what you’ve just done to me bitch. You’ve just bitten me Leah. Do you know where Karen is now? She is lying in a bin bag at the bottom of the cellar. No one will ever find her now.”

Leah is begging, pleading for her life. Is it all going to end like this when all of her earlier problems now seem so futile by comparison. They engage in a desperate struggle.  She is just an animal fighting for her survival. He holds her down against the seat, his hands tightening against her throat. She tries to scream one more time but she can no longer utter any sound. She sees blinking lights in front of her and his dark demented eyes as the train keeps hissing.

He feels her going limp in his arms. He kisses and caresses her lifeless body. Quickly he opens the carriage window. He lifts the corpse and throws it out where it crashes at high speed against the rails. He heaves a sigh of relief and lights a cigarette. He glances at his watch. It is now 4.20 am.




Demon Lover

He comes to visit me every night. At first I tried very hard to resist his power but something irresistible drags me back to him over and over again. He is my Master, my Dark Angel, my Demon Lover. He hurts me and tortures me. He loves to degrade and demean me and yet I yearn for his kisses, for the powerful hold he has over me. He wants to master Life and Death and I surrender gladly to his will.

Each of his caresses leaves me weaker and weaker. He preys on my vitality and my vulnerability. He gorges himself on my blood and leaves when his appetite is satiated for he has no heart.

He is depraved and unprincipled. He knows every vice there is to know. His only pleasure is to inflict pain. He is my Prince of Darkness and a whimsical, capricious child. I am his mother, his sister, his lover and his slave.

I dream of him and get restless when he is not around. I await his return, when I will abandon myself wholly to his desires. At times, I long for his rough touch, at other times l just want to hold him in my arms and gently rock him to sleep.

Perhaps his kisses will kill me some day but this is a death I am more than willing to embrace for we depend on each other and I cannot conceive of my existence without him.

My Fallen Angel, my Lucifer, I fear I cannot save you… Then let me just quench your thirst and take me down with you…to everlasting Life or Death.

Marie Jeanette’s last night.

She had had better days of course. Better days and better times, thought Marie Jeanette Kelly as she was gazing into her near empty glass of gin in the Ten Bells Pub, one of her regular haunts in Whitechapel. Now it seemed her luck had run out. She hadn’t paid her rent for six weeks and her landlord, John McCarthy, was getting impatient. She must find a way to make up for it and there was only one thing she could do. She was not looking forward to it. She wanted the warmth and comfort of the pub for a bit longer.

Maybe she wasn’t completely out of luck. She hadn’t given up all her hopes and expectations yet. If only she could make enough money and escape that darkly lit and dingy little flat in Miller’s court, with barely enough room to breathe… Perhaps she would meet another rich gentleman, an honest one this time, who would take her to France again…or even to America! Any place where she could forget the horrors of her past and look forward to a brighter future. She was still young after all. She was only twenty five. She quickly finished her drink and ordered another. She knew she often abused alcohol but she hadn’t lost her good looks yet, not like the other lodgers at Miller’s court, who looked like proper harridans. She was undoubtedly getting drunk now, but how else could she cope with the squalor, the poverty, the constant fear… She hated her shabby little room but dreaded being thrown out, especially when they were about to enter the dark and chilly winter months. After all, it was still better than the workhouse. Joe, her boyfriend, had been out of work for a few months and they were struggling to make ends meet. He was a nice chap that Joe Barnett. He had always tried to look after her well, she couldn’t complain. It made him so angry not to be able to give her the lifestyle he felt she deserved. She had had to go back to her old trade and he didn’t like it. Sometimes he tried to frighten her off the streets by reading her gruesome accounts of the “Ripper Murders”. “Do you think I have a choice?”she would yell at him. Still, she was terrified. Sometimes, she too had been quite nasty to him, especially when she was drunk. She often vented her frustrations on him, crying, screaming that he was a good for nothing, and that all the men in her life had let her down.

Not her father though… She still retained some memories of her childhood in Limerick, Ireland, and then Carmarthenshire in the heart of Wales where her family had moved when she was little. They were happy memories, with her parents and her six brothers and sisters. What would her father think of her now? He was a good man. He worked as a foreman in an ironworks. They didn’t have much money but it didn’t seem to matter so much in the fresh air of the Welsh Valleys. He used to tell his children bedtime stories, fairy tales and Irish legends that would make your hair stand on end. He liked to sing as well and so did she. She had felt very close to him.

She had married Tom Davies, a collier, when she was only sixteen. That memory seemed very far away and was starting to get hazy. The gin was soothing her body and numbing her senses. Yes, she had got on very well with her husband but he hadn’t lived very long. He got killed in a mine explosion just two years after their wedding. That was when things had started to go downhill for her. Still it was nice to imagine what her life would have been like if Tom had lived. They would have several children now and perhaps he would be telling them stories by the fireplace, just like her father had.

She had drifted apart afterwards. She had started to drink heavily and to rely on the support of several men. Her family had disapproved of her lifestyle. She had moved to Cardiff and her father had tried to go looking for her but she was too proud and too ashamed to face him. From Cardiff she had moved to London where she had drifted further into prostitution. She had met a French woman, Marianne, who had offered her work in a West End brothel. For a while, her life had been relatively good. She was very pretty with her rosy cheeks and freckles, her shiny blue eyes, her curvaceous figure and silky blond hair. She had a lot of success with the gentlemen. She had been dressed in the most delicate finery and driven around Knightsbridge in a horse drawn carriage. She could almost picture herself as a lady then. One gentleman had offered to take her to France with him and Marianne had encouraged her to accept. He had bought her the most expensive presents, silk and jewels, and said she could have her own flat in Paris. She would be his mistress and he would treat her like a princess. Of course, it hadn’t quite been the case. Once they arrived in Paris, the man wanted her to work in a brothel where the living conditions were much harsher than the Knightsbrige one. She had felt so hurt and betrayed, and blamed herself for being so naive and gullible. She had almost imagined herself marrying some French aristocrat and living a life of luxury without a care in the world. She had returned to London. She didn’t want much to do with Marianne afterwards. Marianne had known all along who the “gentleman” was and had been willing to sell her to the highest bidder. She collected her fine silk and satin dresses and left without a word. From then on, she had changed her name from Mary Jane to Marie Jeanette and would always pretend to be of French descent.

She decided to mend her ways. She tried really hard. She sought a different type of employment. She worked as a maid for Mrs Buki, a Christian lady who wanted to lead her on the path to a respectable life. No more drinking or strange men. Of course, her wages were not high and she still felt the bitter sting of her broken dreams. Her luxurious dresses, what use would they be to her now? So she had sold them and begun to drink again to obliterate the pain. She had come staggering to Mrs Buki’s place one evening and her charitable employer dismissed her straight away. She found herself back on the streets. Gin had now become her most constant companion.

She had drifted from one man to another, one shabby room to another, and finally landed at 13 Milller’s Court in the East End, that suffocating little hovel. She didn’t have many belongings with her. She had hung a little painting she was fond of above the fireplace, The Fisherman’s Widow. It showed a young woman weeping into the arms of a much older one. The only other items were a chair, a bedside table and a bed which she had pushed against the wall. It was on the ground floor of a tenement rented by other prostitutes, most of them older and quite hardened. She got on well with most of them but didn’t know them intimately. Her only true friend was Maria Harvey, who was sweet and new to to trade. Joe was jealous of her, jealous of their close friendship. But there was nothing improper in it. They swapped clothes, exchanged secrets and just had a good laugh together. With her friend, Marie recovered something of her lost innocence. They felt safe in each other’s company. 

Poor Joe. Perhaps she had been unfair to him… He only wanted to protect her. As she got up to leave the pub, she remembered some of their bitter quarrels. One night she had got so drunk she had broken the flat’s window with her fist. She thought it was on that same night she must have lost her key. Now she had to slide her hand through the hole in the window to open and lock the door. Joe had grown tired of their arguments and left a few days ago. Still he visited her and they remained on good terms. He had lent her some money. Not enough for her rent though. She was six weeks in arrears and had promised Mr McCarthy that she would have the money for the next day. He knew that if she worked hard enough she would always manage to pay. And tomorrow was Lord Mayor’s Day. That meant more people out on the streets so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a few clients. Right now she still had to drag herself outside. The cool November air chilled her to the bones. It had started to drizzle and the fog was closing in.

Marie swayed a little on her feet. She didn’t want to spend too much time in the cold. Even her bed in Miller’s Court had started to feel like an appealing prospect. She hoped she wouldn’t get drenched. She was still proud of her clothing. She always wore black. Black skirts didn’t get soiled in the mud. She always remembered to wear a pretty white apron on top. She also liked to let her hair loose, cascading over her shoulders. Tonight though, she wished she had worn her bonnet to protect her from the rain, which was getting heavier. She wrapped her black shawl tightly around her shoulders. “Somebody, soon”, she prayed.

That man over there, with ginger hair and a moustache, carrying a pint of beer, he would do. He looked jolly enough. They both marched along Dorset Street, now strangely deserted, past John McCarthy chandler’s shop and into the dark passage leading to Miller’s Court. A gas lamp dimly lit the street. At the entrance stood Mary Ann Cox, her neighbour. They exchanged a few words:

“Good night Mary Ann.”

“Good night Marie Jeanette. Take care of yourself.” Mary Ann looked at the man suspiciously but Marie Jeanette didn’t care. Her spirits had lifted. 

“I am going to sing a song,”she slurred. She felt dizzy but somehow elated. Soon it would be all over. She was determined now. She would start a new life for good. Pay her rent and move on. She had always been a fighter. She couldn’t allow herself to be defeated now.

She lit a candle by her bedside table and started humming a song “Sweet violet I plucked from my mother’s grave.”

“You have a nice voice,” the ginger haired man said.

“Make yourself at home my dear,” she whispered to him as she started to unfasten her clothes.

She closed her eyes and lay on the bed, waiting for him to do his business. He was huffing and puffing and she kept looking at The Fisherman’s Widow, the only painting in her room. It reminded her of her mother. Perhaps she should go back to Ireland, back to her roots and lost youth. The man had got up to leave. She heard him slam the door. He had not been too rough even though he was drunk. It had all seemed like a dream. The room was spinning all around her. She suddenly felt very tired. There would be no one to soothe her pain like in her painting. She would not be awaiting anyone’s return. Not even Joe could rescue her now. She had wept enough tears, there had been too many broken promises, men had trampled on her heart too often, and lured her with false pretenses. No more knights in shining armour, no more princes that turned into frogs. She realised she was still softly humming that song. It was eerily quiet outside. The candle light was flickering. She lay still on her bed…

She must have dozed off for a little while. She awoke, sensing a presence in her room. Someone had lit the fireplace. There was a man standing by her bed. 

Still half asleep, she slurred, “Joe, is that you?”

She sat up, fully alert now.

Image“Mr McCarthy, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve got the key to your room, Marie Jeanette.”

“I’ll pay the rent, I promise. I’ve nearly got enough money. I’ll pay you tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about the rent, Marie.” He had sat by her bed. His voice was gentle, as if talking to a small child.

“What do you want? Have you come to spend the night with me?”

“Yes, Marie. Ever since I saw you, I have always wanted to spend a night with you.”

She screamed as he drew a knife out of his leather bag and pressed her head against her pillow. She didn’t feel too much pain when he slashed her throat. As the blood was gushing out, splattering the walls and soaking her bed, the last thing she lay her eyes upon was the weeping woman in the painting. Marie Jeanette Kelly had found her resting place at last.

Kissing the slug part 2

Tuesday morning.


I have had a good night’s sleep and I know this has just been a foolish dream. I must have been really desperate. To think even a slug would do a runner after being kissed by me! Oh well, lots of princes turn into frogs after the first kiss, don’t they? Still, I wonder what was going on in my mind… 

I’ve got to go, musn’t be late for school. Talk to you later…






I am sitting by the window again, unable to concentrate on anything. I tried to do my homework earlier on, but I was feeling restless. Then I went to bed but kept tossing and turning. I even tried to count sheep but had to give up. I heard an owl howling in the distance and got up. The moonlight is almost dazzling. I sat in front of the mirror, trying to see if something had changed inside me after my (imaginary?) encounter with you. I definetely feel more alive. My cheeks have acquired a rosy glow and I can see a glittering light in my eyes. My hair is shinier and silky to the touch. I feel almost pretty. I am ready to face the whole world now, and all those silly girls at school seem so insignificant now. I am so much stronger than them!


Something is flapping against the window. A bright ray of moonlight is illuminating the room. Oh, I knew it, I knew you would never let me down… My Prince has come for me at last!Image



Kissing the slug part 1

Milly’ diary Top Secret!!                                 Monday Evening.

Dear slug,


Deep down I knew you were not the Prince Charming of my dreams. You were not even a frog! But still I am quite disappointed… Let me explain why…

When I decided to go for a walk by the sea today, everything seemed to be going badly in my life. Mum and I have just moved to Gosport to live with her new boyfriend who is in the Navy. I really hate it here, it´s so dull! There is not much to see apart from the Submarine and Explosion Museums. Of course, you have Portsmouth across the water with Nelson’s ship and a really trendy place they call Gunwharf Quays where everything is meant to happen, or at least something… Well, there is a cinema, a casino and lots of trendy shops where you can’t afford anything. Mum and her new man took me there last weekend. We went to a Mexican restaurant and had lots of spicy food. But they got quite drunk and I felt in the way. For the time being I prefer to stay in my room or go for walks. There is a beach near our house called Stokes Bay and that’s where I decided to go after school this afternoon. I kept thinking about all those bitchy girls in my Form Group, especially Lesley and Tasha, who were whispering nasty things about me all day… Let´s say I am not the most popular girl at school. I managed to make friends with the other new girl, who is a bit of a misfit, like me. Her name is Wanda and she is from Poland. She has only been in this country for a few months but her English is improving day by day and I fear soon she will no longer be my friend. I have red hair and freckles. I am quite fat, and I don’t think I am adapting very fast, unlike her… I have never been kissed, not even by a slug…until today!

 The beach is all pebbles, not sand, and usually quite chilly but it suits me fine. Well, it suited my mood at the moment. Some people were flying their kite. It was very windy, so I kept walking and walking for a long time, until I felt tired and paused. I noticed you, the little slug, crawling among the pebbles. I bent down to have a closer look at you. Your tentacles were darting towards me and your eyes gazed directly into mine, as if trying to tell me something. I had no idea what it could be, perhaps that we were brothers in misfortune, or that we shared some kind of special bond together? I felt sorry for you. I let you nestle into my arms and suddenly, suddenly, I know no one will believe me, but you spoke to me.

” Take me back to your place” you said. “At midnight I want you to give me a kiss. I’ll turn into a prince because you’re my princess.”

So I took you home as you had instructed. I did my homework, let you crawl by my window, and waited for the sun to set and the moon to appear. I knew you wouldn’t want to get away. You were lonely, just like me. I watched the last rays of the sun filter through the curtains. I was starting to feel sleepy and I think I dozed off for a little while. When I woke up, a full moon was shining through the window. It looked very bright and almost red. You were still here.

“Can I kiss you now?” I whispered. You didn’t answer but I saw you look at me again with that helpless, almost human look.

“Don’t close your eyes”, I thought I heard you say. I took you into the palm of my hand and tried to stare deep into your eyes, but your skin was really slimy! I felt a bit repelled by it. ImageStill I moved my lips closer to your face and I kissed you. I kissed you with my eyes closed. When I opened them, you were gone.