Sides



  Sides

  Denis Vaughan

  Copyright 2011 Denis Vaughan

  ISBN: 978-1-4580-9999-0

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to all those who have read and commented on my blog where these stories were originally posted - https://inshin.wordpress.com/

  Thanks also to Chris Nash & Debra Snider (the original readers and givers of encouragement) and also Donna Carrick who has given great advice through her Twitter comments.

  Dedicated to

  Auntie Kathleen

  Sides

  There are different sides to human nature and what happens to us in life. Some are sad & dramatic, some are humorous. This collection takes seven stories from our more dramatic side and seven from our humours side. I hope you enjoy.

  Table of Contents

  From This Side

  Through His Eyes

  Could have been us, could it?

  The Window

  Come to say hello

  The Cell

  Crystal

  One last Christmas job

  Cuddles

  The Devine Office

  Glorious Hands

  The Confessional

  The Other Church

  The Sitters

  From This Side

  Wow, the sky, blue with puffy balloons of white cloud look amazing when you’re lying on the ground looking up.

  It’s an incredible site, and completely dismisses the pain.

  I wish I’d done this more before I was on the ground easing my history in a red signature across the fresh early grass.

  I suppose what was the biggest shock wasn’t being downed, it was how and by whom. I was always sharp, I knew exactly who was close and who was to be watched.

  When I put the barrel right between the eyes of my so-called friend as he whimpered in a saliva’d attempt to say “I didn’t do it”, I didn’t blink as I squeezed, and that was that problem sorted. See, I always knew.

  But it seems things change, and the older you get, well maybe.

  I broke my own rules I suppose. Maybe age has that effect. But he was a young and somewhat reckless hood, and could have gone wrong at any time. I decided to guide him, help him in the ways of damnation. He learned well. He knew the time, he knew the place, he knew the words. Words I had taught him, words that signalled the end.

  Everything was silent now. It was like the explosion of the shot had frightened everything and everyone into hiding. That would be the way, into hiding. That’s how it worked. When you did a job, you didn’t do it quietly or sneakily, you made sure you were seen, made sure you were heard, then no one talked.

  Only this guy had gone the other way. He had decided that my departure should be ‘quiet, concealed, hidden’, that was his mistake. You can be a hero in this world when you take out a big name, but only if everyone knows. I told him that, don’t do something you won’t get credit for. It wasn’t that I wanted to be a celebrity for the jobs I did, no, it was much more basic. When people knew the job you did, you were safer. Now he’d have to face the fact that he’d done the job, but no-one except the customer, would know. For a guy like him, a death sentence.

  Don’t worry, I’m not dead yet. With a poor shot, it takes a while. It’s not that he was normally a poor shot, he just found this one difficult. I kind of find that somewhat comforting. Worry, it’s not a word I actually use that often, but it’s on my mind now. I worry that I didn’t give him the right guidance, or even just information. He’s not ready to handle the fallout of what he’s just done, and the customer knew that. If I had only had a bit more time. I don’t blame him, I just thought I would be able to get it right, in a wrong sort of way I suppose. But worry it is. When he knelt beside me whimpering like a small child saying how sorry he was and how much I meant to him, I just knew how much I had failed. It was all I could do to try to set him straight when I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and gurgled, “Fuck off you wimp!”

  He still didn’t get it and I knew he’d be dead by the end of the day. Clever, that lousy ass had used him to get me, and I fell for it. The kid stood up and walked away, then he walked toward me again, and then away. Not good. You do the job, you finish it, and you get out. He’d barely done the job, hadn’t finished and was still here, total fail.

  Well as great as this sky looked, I felt I had to try to straighten things out. I knew I was starting to get a bit dizzy as the blood levels were dropping, but I tried to pull myself up a bit. I could see him on his hunkers. He had his head in his hands.

  I opened my mouth and said, well, nothing. I had no voice. I could feel moisture in my mouth, but I knew the taste, it wasn’t going to help. I gathered all my energy and spat out the previously valuable but now useless fluid. I could feel air and knew it was my chance.

  “Kid” I shouted. It seemed it was more a weak call, but got his attention. He looked around suddenly and then stood up and started to walk towards me.

  I watched him, his tears had stopped and an almost angry look had crossed his face. He still held the gun in his hand. When he reached me he stopped.

  I took a reaching cough as much as I could muster and spat out some of the little life that was left.

  “Kid, get out of here and all that’s to do with it.”

  “Awh”, I felt a mixture of relief and exhaustion as I lay my head back down, the job done.

  The kid came close to me and watched me. He looked me straight in the eyes, he still had tears in his.

  “I know what I’ve got to do, you told me, the job has to be finished.”

  He nodded as he stood above me and pointed his gun towards my face.

  “That’s fine son” I managed to breath out, “but get away, go, you’re dead” I tried to explain but somehow knew it meant nothing.

  I watched as he gathered his strength, despite his tremors, and gripped the gun tighter.

  I wondered as he pulled the final trigger he should have pulled before now, as I’d shown him, did he think my words of warning were some last-minute hopeless threat? I’d heard many before myself as a dying man tried to struggle for avoidance. I hoped not. It wasn’t that someone would avenge my death on him, it was simply a case that his customer would always have factored it in, that I knew.

  Through His Eyes

  When you can only look straight ahead, it’s probably desirable that the view is enjoyable and somewhat dynamic. A wall or a closed curtain has limited appeal. But of course that can really only be solved if people know that you can see and recognise what’s in front of you. Surely if they understood, they’d make sure you would have a different view every few hours.

  Frankie looked forward to the arrival of Nurse Catherine. He had now worked out her schedule, within reason, and enjoyed waiting and finally seeing her, when she crossed in front of him of course. But there was something different about Nurse Catherine. She actually started talking to him as she entered the door in a cheerful and often matter of fact sort of way.

  “Well Frankie, how are things today?” she might start as she moved into view across to pull the curtains.

  “Watch those eyes now, it’s a bright and beautiful one out!”

  The only thing disappointing about a fabulous morning like those one’s, was that it briefly blocked his view of her as the light streamed towards him and temporarily blinded him.

  She would move around the bed making sure everything was in order, which it always was as when there’s no movement, nothing gets disrupted, still she always made sure the bed was presented well. She would then gently raise him up further and ensure his head was comfortably angled on the pillow. That was a highlight of Frankie’s day as her perfume or body spray, or whatever, always cast him into a flurry of memories. But he did feel that she genuinely spent extra time talkin
g to him and ensuring all was well before moving on to the next room, which he was sure wasn’t easy when there was never a response. After she had left, he would focus on the memories of things gone by.

  When he had first arrived there, over two years now, he had felt very strange. There was fear and some frustration, but not what he would have expected, not that he thought about being in this predicament before.

  Probably the worst thing was the number of people, family & friends, who in both distress and curiosity would stick their face in front of his and ask,

  “Do you think he can hear us Doctor, or understand us?”

  This was always addressed to some white coated individual who gave the same collection of expertise answers depending on the weather.

  “There is a possibility, of course we have no indication as he really is unable to respond in any way.”

  “You may have to come to terms with the possibility that he really is completely unaware of anything around him.”

  “I think it is a good idea to talk to him, tell him what’s happening, maybe play some music he liked.”

  Or the other classic that his lovely niece