I know all the neighbours from the past. They come and leave traces from their gore. Their idiotic non expressions tell me not much but their mannerism do. There is not much left for me but to observe.
What a good time they are having, with their illiterate children. The children do nothing all day but play. At night their sounds are more affecting. It is deeper as if they know something they shouldn't.
I am now the observer of abuse. There is nothing I can do because no proof. I have no proof there is no evidence and that makes me feel thwarted. Thoughts from my own past come crowding in. I fear. I feel it and fear.
There is something in the air. It is like smoke screens. As if troubled by too much of. Someone the neighbour is everywhere. Eyes watching as if he dislikes the very sound of me. he is nothing to do with me. His daughter has the same name as myself. He calls her constantly. He is not the father he says but the granddad.
The childish laughter and then papa and then something silenced. She as pretty as a picture prattles on endlessly. I wonder when the children eat as they not cooking except at night.
There is no one to ask this question what is going on? Why are those children in some kind of danger or trouble? What did I do wrong how to not prevent it? The whole cause will start again. This nest of bees not conforming to normal behaviour. They say normality is us. I am nothing and have no authority there is no one who will believe me.
This non person who has been incarcerated is not up to scratch. Someone without reason brain certainly but not sane. There he knows someone from the council. He can have me locked up. The neighbour said so. When I had been painting the fence took exception said it was a Saturday. His reasonable cause of action sent me to feel someone. A danger to me as well as to the children in his care. The fourteen year old daughter who had the two kids than is now mature. Still going to school for heaven's sake. And sometimes pretends to be her mother in order to kill gossip.
"What hope does mankind have?"
That we the people who must obey our conscience do not have any? When we want something however small we go after them. As if they haven and we are the apple cart which spills into some cider. Then we frolic like mad; until we cannot dance anymore and have to rest. So why come home to roast? Because there is nowhere to rest in. Well I have a few suggestions. A coffin is a restful place as well as this bed.
I am in this noisy neighbour's place. He keeps on popping round. He seems to be following me round and around. Getting me nervy. When nothing but trying to eavesdrop and dropping smiles. As if they want to noise around. Trying to peep and then making haste not to be seen.
He does not like me. He said so he said my grapes off. My apples rotten. I do nothing.
Neighbourly pride is something hissing at me. There is something wrong with me. I do feel it sometimes more because getting older in England and nearing that time when warmth is the note. When one is older one wants more love. Maybe it is me he fancied lets face it. I am still not dead.
I think it is my imagination. They glow with pride these people of the night. They have come and gone and then someone else might take their place. It is inside me this feeling this sense of being followed everywhere I go. They own a night club. When music is their key note the music strains our relationship further.
That is, it there is no privacy left. They just want to see. I meant them nothing and no harm. But they seek me out someone bearing a resemblance is where I am walking. Out in the foot tunnel. I had been walking some time before I note them. Struggling with the diabetic and all manner of ailing body parts. And then someone as I getting out from the foot tunnel comes looking like someone from Turkey. There is not much to say. I am almost caught when they disappear. I feel this is creepy. The lift closes before I can too get in.
To the bus stop. The man does not even nod. he is just glaring as if on show himself. His skin is scarred and he looks not out of place. The one it is my house or yours. We have more house than yours.
Then when I calm down,
I am trying not to make a sound. The noise says the neighbour is intense. He and his family have trouble sleeping because I work at nights. Not really work just potter around and about insomnia is one of the diseases
It is as if the woman inside of me has become a brunt of humour. Almost not human, as if some sorry state of feeding is taking place. But there is not much to sober up in. Something called life one expects this unkindness. This jests because there is nothing I did wrong to put myself in this situation?
That I chose the wrong side they said. I choose that side because there is hope on that side. Their beady eyes go red again that they feel betrayed. No one is nearby they have all gone home.
Sometimes, because the trouble is when one is used to working night and day is never enough. I am without any funds. But the terrible secret is?
What when the family say speak to us ?Say what you think and feel? They then silence me forever. More as if I am a parrot which said the wrong thing. The embarrassment is such that they glow red with rage.
The thing was doing some work for the worthy mother. She could never do without me.
No sick pay.
No holidays except with them.
Live at home eat and cook at home.
Parents and family said often. " We adore you so of much would not be parted with you for the world."
What did it matter? When we do things wrong in the start. We startle everyone for the beasts we have created. Our children now we frighten of more than the axe man. More than anyone. Please protects from the nightmares- them.
That an inadequate eventually a gay man seemed to want to please his family and got married to a gay wife. They happy to hide their secrets from the world. Their lies got deep. They thought I did not know. It got worse they hated me for being naive and so they got it sorted How to enjoy our marriage is that we must now have it out. We got our needs our basic instincts and here was someone who could make them happy.
When we do we sort of make her do the stuff like clean the bath and run the shop and that saves us money. Makes us money and we can live well. Not do much at all. We hid our secrets well.
"Scrub our backs as well?"
"Going too far."
We say a kind word; give her something. You see words are cheap. We add to the world the means to make her feel that she is useful. And we do well out of it. When one wants to trap a animal that is how to do it. And of course pills to make her think less. Mortgage free now because of her and life is easier. She like a zombie did it better than anyone else.
"No staff to pay pension off and to pay the other things. "
How did he do this? All the con wanted to know. How did it happen did it bring them happiness. Did it bring them joy? Nobody knows the madness of a man who has failed to secure a good woman. When his sweetheart slept with the only thing. My wife is a pillow. Slept tight on it.
"What about that girl who he robbed of the wits and had her delusions complex?"
"That was I." I say in some heat.
"Left to the wolves so he and she could enjoy?" There is nothing but this complex plot it is very simple really. It is all about not wanting to pay for stuff.
"So, he got a taste for the real thing? Cruelty?"
"That emotion can wreck havoc on the system. Yes that is what it did to him."
"What a good man?"
"He moved with fear."
“God makes them small?”
“What did happen?”
"The reality hits home does it not? That a pig like him can get away with it because he has more wit."
"That is not you that is your dad."
His many wives want to punish him well let them because he does not care anymore. He wants to die. His punishment is his painful embarrassment. That he had to come home and find all the filth indoors. He did not know existed. That his life was one of bliss and home.
He trusted the lower classes to be better than the toffs. He trusted that mother and father were pleasing to me. Of course he just hated to find out he did not want to seem imposing to others.
Well childhood abuse does not end in happily ever after. It continues in a main line. There is that you see. Some want to kick you because they heard about the abuse and want to try it out as something to do." Let me see if I tackle you as you played this game before then I can kick you like a football. You have been there before?"
When a adult is seen to be limping with crutches then the crutches must be boring to someone like them. The parries continue until the weak is no more.