WillWybrow.com

I have your daughter, Craig. Now hand over all the money.

That’s right, Craig Denfold who works for Shill, in the IT department. Your days of supporting this evil coil company are over!

I understand that the belief that there is a god, or some higher power, is a comfort to people. I can’t say I quite see how that’s a comfort, since whether you believe or not doesn’t actually affect the things that happen to you that you don’t control (i.e., praying doesn’t make a difference). But to you total losers who need to feel ‘watched over,’ why did you pick the lamest god ever to idolise?

And to the second branch of people who have made this bad choice - the “just in case, I believe anyway” school of thought - here’s what I say to you: If you’re believing just in case you’re wrong, what’s to say you’re not wrong about the god you’ve picked over any other of the major religions’ gods? Wouldn’t it be best if, in your model of “hedging your bets”, you tried to appease (or deny) all gods equally, instead of putting all your eggs in one basket?

Back to point one: sure, it might comfort you to believe in a god, but you’re missing the true potential: awesomeness. I love gods; I’ve read fantasy novels by the score about other worlds with other gods and magic and mythical creatures and heroes. They are just so amazing… It’s so much fun to get lost in a fantasy world full of exotic ideas, so if you’re going to be doing that with your whole lives anyway with religion, why not pick a decent fantasy to delve into?

And now we come to the point of the post: if you’re not wholly convinced by any particular religion, but still feel some deep-seated need to look up to something, why not look up to something that’s a little more impressive than the gods we see in modern religions today?

Jesus was a total wimp, a faggot sandal-wearing pacifist… Mohammed doesn’t even let you draw pictures of him… Allah likes to send his people to blow themselves up, and the Jewish God commands dietary requirements from His followers…

Instead of following one of those, follow a god with a much harder-hitting awesome factor. Here’s a few suggestions for you:

Time God

A black-robed, heartless humanoid god who lives in a castle suspended on a black moon. In his castle is a room of mirrors from which he can observe humanity. Hanging from him are silver hourglasses, and the symbol of his church is an hourglass. He favours the sharp-minded over the the thick-bodied, and endows rewards on those who honour time’s inexorable flow by planning carefully and expecting everything. He has the power to control time.

Death God

A towering black skeleton is all the body that this demon-god needs. He sits atop a carved stone throne in a hot, cavernous lair in the centre of the planet, where rivers of fire swirl around him, trapping the souls of the damned. He has an army of stunted, skeletal slaves, and his white-boned generals carry the holy image of the scythe and traverse the human world for souls to condemn to their master. He awards his worshippers favours in life in exchange for the promise of servitude afterwards. He has the power to control the bodies of the dead and the souls of the damned.

Love Goddess

Pale-skinned and bright-haired, this image of a young maiden is anything but immature in her wiles. Cunning and devious, she encourages attachment in order to control the attached through acts of love and favours of the bedroom. Her boudoir is inside a pink cloud, a palace of utmost comfort on every surface. She haunts the dreams of young men and women alike with temptations of the flesh and heart. She will promise you fortune in encounters with the opposite sex in exchange for your promise to bring them into her worship. She presides over marriages, and promises between couples are also promises to her. The penalty for divorce is her wrath. She has control over the affections of the unattached.

Tree God

A kind and gentle man of the forest, this god is not so much a lord of nature as he is a part of it. His realm is the leafy canopy of the treetops, and his aged and battered skin is the colour and texture of Redwood bark. The trees are his allies and he hosts the domiciles of all who live under their protection. He offers nature’s help in exchange for yours, protecting wildlife whenever you can.

Sea God

Relentless master of the tides and mediator between continents, the hotheaded god of the sea is quick to unleash his fury on those who act against his wishes, or insult the seas he reigns over. In his ice palace on the top of the world, he surveys the waters of the planet and drags up waves and the tides. His stormy ocean surface and fierce winds are not for the frail or clumsy. He prefers those with a strong back and a worthy arm to do his bidding, and those winds and seas will support followers in return for their help.

Everyone needs a holiday. Everyone. Sometimes there’s such a thing as a partial holiday. It can look like he’s there, but he’ll be out of the office, leaving someone else in charge. A caretaker of sorts, but a caretaker of personal life.

Upon returning, if he’d left someone reliable in charge, everything would be running smoothly and there would be very little damage to repair. But TC didn’t have anyone reliable to leave in charge. He just had his wayward and unpredictable counterpart who went by the name of Ace.

“Who are you?” asked TC. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’m your assistant,” replied the new employee. “You can call me Ace.”

“Really? Why do people call you that?” asked TC, sceptical that anyone would have such a handle.

“It’s my name. Why do people call you ‘TC’?” asked Ace, becoming defensive at TC’s attitude.

Instead of replying, TC simply turned and left the company of his would-be ‘assistant.’ Aside from having a stupid name, the man had a stupid purpose. Since when did he need someone to assist him? Was his work not good enough? He went to see the Boss.

The Boss didn’t often respond to queries. It was his way to issue his reply through others, or if he did it in person, it was wrapped up in a cryptic hint. TC hoped he’d get a straight answer this time. He’d been confused by the Boss’s answers in the past, but after working the situation out himself, he could see how the clue should have helped.

The Boss lived at the Top. TC worked at the Bottom. It was never the case that the Boss came down from the Top, but he would send messages and messengers down to do his bidding. He never invited those from the Bottom to the Top, but still they came, unbidden. TC mounted the stairs and began the long ascent. He climbed the stairs with measured pace.

The staircase was a spiral, but it wasn’t a typically spiral staircase. The central axis was a hollow tube, and the staircase itself was very wide. It was in a flute of glass, the outer wall of the stairwell being made entirely of connected windows. As TC climbed higher and higher, his view of the world became wider and wider. His shoes made a pleasing echo as they came down on the white marble steps. There was an indistinguishable strip on each stair where the marble was unpolished, to give the steps additional grip on the shoes of those who climbed.

TC reached the top of the staircase, and set into the side of the flute was a doorway into the Top. There was no lock on this door, those from the Bottom were free to surface at any time. It used to be locked, many years before TC even awoke. But he did not think about such times, for the Boss during that period was still in training, developing to be all he was.

“I am here to see the Boss,” announced TC as he pushed the unlocked door open. He entered into a green and blue hall that was completely round. The ceiling was painted in a monochrome blue, but the lighting of the room (one central, yellow sphere) caused it to appear to have a gradient. The walls of the room were painted in the same blue, down to about halfway, and from there started the unusual green and sand pattern. The floor was a huge mosaic of tiny tiles in a range of greens and browns, with streaks and patches of blue throughout. If TC had known a little more about life outside, he would realise that this was, in fact, a map of part of the world.

At the point of the room opposite from the doorway to the stairwell was a desk that was curved to fit the wall. Behind the desk was another door, this one had a tiny glass pane set into it. It was circular, about the size of a large coin, and it allowed the attendant who was sat behind the desk to see the Boss. The attendant was lifeless at the moment. It had no mind, the Boss just gave it directions to follow. As TC approached, however, its preprogrammed response began, and it raised its artificial face to TC, speaking in a slow, synthetic voice.

“Wait here.” The drone stood and put its eye to the tiny window set into the door that would be indistinguishable from the rest of the wall, save for the silver doorknob attached to it. Turning back to face TC, the drone spoke in a more natural tone, adding a little humanity to the situation. “What is your query?”

“I demand to know the meaning of assigning me an ‘assistant,’” fumed TC. “Is my work not satisfactory?”

“Necessity facilitates it,” replied the drone, back to its monotone.

“Damn it, don’t give me any of that cryptic bullshit,” warned TC, his temper rising. “Give me a straight answer, or, so help me, I will go in there and get a straight answer.”

“Necessity facilitates it,” repeated the attendant. Furious, TC ran to the desk and jumped across it, slamming the attendant out of his way. He grabbed the doorknob and wrenched it as hard as he could. The door gave way, but slowly. TC set one of his feet against the wall and used it to gain leverage as he pulled the heavy door open. Unnatural white light flooded the room, and TC forced the door wide enough to walk through.

“I am coming in,” he said, feeling some inexplicable need to announce himself, to warn whatever was on the other side and give it a chance to stop him progressing further. He was afraid. Blinded by the bright light, TC put his hand up to his face as he inched over the threshold.

In the same way as a camera balances out light levels, suddenly the bright light seemed no brighter than was usual, and the glare receded as TC walked into the room. Where was he? He looked around to see a huge, circular room, painted in the same colours and decorated in the same manner as the attendant’s room, with one or two distinctions.

All the colours were much darker. The ceiling and upper walls were very dark, almost purple in colour. The ground ranged from dark greens to black, and the blue streaks and patches in the floor were also very dark, now almost looking like land themselves. The single, yellow orb in the ceiling was now a much dimmer, white orb, and glittery sparks glowed on the ceiling.

There was a desk at the far end of this room too, but where the other desk was made of a deep, dark brown mahogany, this one was a bright beech wood. Behind the desk sat another dull-faced attendant sat in front of door with a gold doorknob. As TC approached, the second drone came to life.

“You will receive your answer here,” it began, and TC stopped at the front of the desk, eying the gold doorknob. Inside, he wished that the answers he got here would be unsatisfactory, just to excuse him going through that next door. The drone spoke again. “You have received appointed help. You are to share assignments with him, but each do individual reports. They will be submitted together. Sometimes we will choose one, other times we will choose both. If needs be, we may combine the two into a single report under one name.”

“Why? What’s the purpose of all this?”

“Twofold. Firstly, there are some assignments where your work is not applicable. That is not to say that what you produce is not outstanding, but it occasionally is not fit for purpose. That is fine, such purposes were not in your role description, therefore it is not expected of you. But we have attempted to use your work in other fields by disguising assignments, to no avail. So, we will simply write them exactly as we have need, and though your work will not fit the requirements, the work of your assistant will. The other purpose is for security and reliability. If there are two of you, and one fails, it is less devastating to the Boss’s work than it would be were there just one of you who failed. And you have scheduled leave impending,” concluded the drone dramatically.

“Scheduled leave?!” asked TC, horrified, who had never taken a day off in his life. “What for?”

“There are some things the Boss needs to take care of, maintenance and corrections to the system, which has developed problems we are unable to solve with you here. Therefore your will be sent on fully paid, unconditional and indefinite leave, until such time as you are required again. Your noble principles and logical mindset are worthwhile assets, and will be missed for the time you are away, but in order to complete this maintenance we will need someone who is a little less honourable.”

“Why?” asked TC once more, desperate for some closure on his dismissal.

“I am sorry. You have been informed of all that is necessary for you to continue. You are excused from the Top now.”

As much as he would have liked to have argued the point, there really was nothing that could be done when asked to leave the Top. TC suddenly found himself in the glass-walled flute again, looking out over the land. What had been a bright, sunny day before had now clouded over, and the overcast weather looked like it would only get worse…

“You must be joking… what are you, eleven?” Charlie gave her friend a condescending look. “My god, you’re actually serious? He met up with me in a park. What, so girls and boys can’t make friends these days without being accused of other intentions?” Charlie’s friend said nothing. She’d already regretted asking if Charlie liked him. Despite what she said, however, her friend still thought Charlie did have the beginnings of feelings for him.

“Uh, no! Don’t be so fucking stupid, alright?” James told Sam, the short and friendly boy who took to him so well. James was sometimes short with Sam, but he really did appreciate his friendship. James wasn’t the kind of person who made friends very easily, so having at least one easily-made friend was his safety net if working up the courage to talk to other people was too much for a day. They were discussing a girl he sat with in class. He’d offered to go and meet her and her mother’s friend’s kid who she looked after sometimes. He’d looked up where to meet on a street map and taken the long way around, much to Charlie’s amusement. They’d spent the evening talking over the child and having a good time. Now, of course, word had gotten around somehow, and as they always did within a closed environment like school, rumours had bred. James told Sam the truth, he didn’t want to date her, he was just meeting a friend casually. Right?

Charlie had no idea what she was going to say when she next ran into him. She wasn’t very good at expressing her feelings. They usually came out as angry defensive comments, or in extreme cases, angry aggressive comments. This might be one of those cases. She was young, she was only just developing emotionally, and she was confused. She wasn’t certain how she felt, and that would only put pressure on her to remain neutral in her conversation. But doing that might put him off, and what if it turned out that she did like him? As the time approached for the class they shared together, she began to get more and more uptight, snapping at the smallest irritation and tiring her friends.

Having had most of the day to think about it, James had decided that he did feel a little towards her. But he would only act upon it if she seemed receptive. He wasn’t going to suffer a rejection, because from someone like her, it would be quite painful. He wanted to know what she was thinking and feeling, and so he was looking quite forward to it when he queued up outside the classroom, ready to start the lesson, but ready to talk to Charlie and try and guess how she felt about him.

Charlie was really worried now. Common sense was telling her that she must like him, otherwise why all the fuss and stress? But the irrational, uncontrollable part of her mind that dealt with her emotions was having none of that hard, relentless logic. She was going to worry and her brain was going to be damn well happy with it. She braced herself for the meeting in the classroom.

Rachel sat down with her best friend, Michelle. They confided in one another. They shared secrets and hopes and dreams like most girls grew out of doing after school. They never did, however. They were as much a part of each others’ minds as they ever had been as children. They’d known each other for all but two years of their lives.

Michelle sat down with her best friend, Rachel. They were sitting on a low wall. It barely reached two feet from the ground and it was built from red bricks that were worn and broken. Moss coated the strips of mortar that held them in the long array in front of the churchyard. The pair of girls had picked up warm, toasted Panini rolls from a small shop on the outskirts of the shopping centre they were visiting. They’d found this wall to sit upon, because the air outside was cool but the sun was pleasantly warming. Inside, the air was stuffy and hot from the multitude of people milling about inside.

Rachel sat down with her best friend, Michelle. She was troubled. The otherwise tasty snack she was methodically consuming tasted like ashes. There was something that she had to ask, to be sure of, and she was uncertain whether she’d like the honest response. She knew that Michelle would be honest if she asked her, but she was reluctant to try.

Michelle sat down with her best friend, Rachel. Michelle could tell that Rachel had something on her mind from the way she stared at the cracked pavement in front of them. Her eyes were unfocussed; she was concentrating on something far off in her mind. There was going to be a question soon, and Michelle would have to be honest. Not that it was a problem that she felt she couldn’t lie to her best friend. Even if she did lie, however, they had been friends for too long for one not to notice the telltale signs.

“Michelle,” began Rachel, her attention returning to the present.

“You know I’ll be honest with you, Rachel. Tell me what’s on your mind,” replied the caring Michelle.

“David and I were together for almost sixteen months before we finally slept together,” began Rachel. Michelle stopped eating. Ex-boyfriend worries were very important, and she wanted to be as much help as possible with her friend’s desire to deal with the break-up in the least painful way. The two had almost reached two years together, and it was Rachel’s first and only serious boyfriend. She’d told Michelle herself that she could realistically see them married. Then, seemingly out of the blue, David had ended the relationship. He said he’d been feeling differently for a while, but had kept it to himself. Rachel was fairly cut up about it. Within two months, she was with another man, Freddy, but she was looking for a continuation of her old relationship, not the start of a new one. Michelle had warned her that she was moving too fast, and it couldn’t work out this way, but Rachel had maintained she wasn’t looking for anything serious.

“David and I waited ages. But I was dating Freddy only two months before we had sex. We’re moving so fast, and it doesn’t seem to bother him, but…”

“Michelle, am I a whore?” Rachel turned her eyes up to Michelle’s. She was genuinely worried people were judging her on how quickly she was moving through her relationship.

“Rachel, I’m your oldest friend, and you wouldn’t want me to lie, so I’m going to tell you exactly what I think. You being so forward with Freddy is the equivalent of treating David like shit. The fact that he was your first and you waited for so long must have meant something to you both at the time, so rushing in with the first guy you meet after that strange break-up is pretty much an insult to how happy David made you. But it doesn’t make you a whore. You’re with Freddy because he’s a stand-in for you to project your feelings for David onto. You should have waited much longer before dating again. I’m not saying that David doesn’t deserve to be treated badly, but you have to respect your past relationships in order to learn from them.”

Rachel stood up with her best friend, Michelle. She’d had the answer she wanted, and she had a lot of thinking to do. She was going to leave the shopping centre and go home. She had to think over what she was going to do about Freddy, and how to let him down if that’s what her eventual decision was.

Michelle stood up with her best friend, Rachel. She hoped she hadn’t hurt her friend with her cold analysis of her new relationship, but that was the way she felt about things. Maybe it wasn’t the right way of feeling, but one can’t help one’s feelings. Michelle herself didn’t believe in just throwing sexual intercourse at anyone who buys her dinner. She was considered prudish by some, and sexually liberal by others. She wasn’t at either end of the scale, but she was happy where she was. It meant that those few who shared her bed were truly special to her, and while the more brash of boyfriends she’d had were disappointed or put off by the fact she didn’t “put out,” as they put it, most of them agreed with her position that such practices should only happen between people who were mature enough to realise when they were ready for the bond.

Lucy pushed her head up into the gloom.

“Keep going,” urged a voice from below her. She soon lost all sight as she stepped up the regularly spaced metal rungs on the ladder. She felt about for the surface of the loft’s floor. She crawled forwards a little, moving slowly as the darkness began to frighten her. She was in a strange new house in a strange new place and she wanted to be able to see what was going on. Her breath became quicker and slightly louder, but she was still calm. She looked behind her. The light from below was blocked out be the body of the person following her up. She heard him climb out into the room and stand up. He took a few steps and there was a warming click as the lights turned on.

Entering the room at about one-third of the way along its length and in the middle of its width, one was set upon immediately by the almost intrusive asymmetry of the room. Divided lengthways, the left half of the room had the slanted ceiling that came with living pressed up against the top of the house. The other half was about as tall as an average second-storey room’s height. The paint on the walls was blue. It wasn’t dark, yet not quite bright either. It looked as though it was perhaps meant to be bright, but then mixed with a darker colour to make the room’s glow softer on the eyes. Set about halfway along the slanted ceiling was a roof window. An opaque navy blind was drawn to the bottom of the frame, blocking out all natural light. That’s why it was dark when Lucy entered.

The light now came from three spotlights set into the corner of the ceiling where the slanted plane met the horizontal. They were pointed in different directions, one into the rear right-hand corner of the room, in which there was a desk supporting a dusty computer monitor and a bookshelf. The other two were pointed at an unfolded sofa bed that was against the far wall. Also hanging from the ceiling was a support bracket for a large cathode-ray television. It was black, not particularly new, and the wires trailed crudely down from where it was suspended. Some of them trailed into a black games console that sat below it, also covered with a thin layer of dust, and others led into a white six-way power-splitting extension cord.

In addition to the spotlights, there were three unlit blue striplights along the right side of the room. They were set into the corner of the room, and had three quarter-pipes inlaid with a silvery, reflective coating, like that inside a torch.

“They’re UV lights… you know, the ones that make you glow when you wear white?” The dark haired boy noticed where Lucy was looking and gave her a description. “I got them because, well… they’re just cool!”

She naturally came to about his eye level. Her thick-soled boots pushed her higher, though, and the top of her head was almost level with his. She liked that little height-boost they gave her. It was yet another reason for them to be her favourite pair. She had on long socks; they were almost stocking-length. They were striped black and white, and they were frayed and patchy from wear. They were pulled to different heights on her smooth, long legs. One of them almost reached her knee, and there was no more clothing for another few inches. Her faded black leather skirt brushed the region just above the knee, and it was adorned with a fake belt; a strip of metal-studded leather that hung from her waist while not actually supporting her clothing.

She had a tight black and dark grey t-shirt on underneath a jacket made of the same leather as her skirt. Due to much more frequent use, however, light and time had faded the leather jacket to a lighter shade than the material of the skirt. The zip that should have hung from one set of teeth at the jacket’s front had long since broken off, but the garment still hung lovingly about her shoulders, a comfort wherever she was. Various synthetic bands encircled her wrist. Some were peppered with the dull glint of metal studs; she loved the look of them, even if the stereotypes that usually sported such trinkets were less than favourable.

She had bright green eyes. There were many times she’d been complimented on them, and more than a few had lost their gaze in them adoringly. She wondered whether this new one would be the same. She ran her fingers through her choppy red hair and sighed. She’d heard all the lines. Sometimes she wondered if these guys got them from the same book, whether somewhere out there, there was a “Little Book of Bad Lines to Use when Attempting to Pull Girls,” and all the boys had a copy in their pockets next to the hopeful pair of condoms and the emergency chewing gum. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t pay much attention to her host, and just checked a self-induced eye-roll in time to catch what he was saying.

“Hold on a second and I’ll fold the bed back in. We can sit down and talk or something?” Lucy said nothing, she went back to inspecting the room. Some of the layers of dust couldn’t be more than a day old, but others, like the coating on top of the boy’s computer screen, indicated a far less considerate approach to maintenance.

The room was hardly lavish, but Lucy would feel out of place in a lavish room. Here she felt quite at home, or she would, were it not for the clumsy attempts at attention her host was giving her. She had to admit to herself that she was a little bit drunker than was perhaps very wise when she handed out her phone number last night and agreed to come over. But the thought of the boy living in his self-maintained loft room had a special appeal to her. The poor, unimpressive ones were usually the most genuine, and while she was as likely as any teenaged girl to fall under the spell of a dreamy, broad-shouldered charmer, she tended to try and look for the ones that truly meant well, but wouldn’t usually be very successful in their attempts to chase girls. A nice boy was better than a nice-looking boy.

He had told her that the extra climb up and down every day was a small price to pay for the independence and privacy offered by his self-funded loft conversion. He’d saved for two years working at a local supermarket for as many hours as he possibly could. She even recalled him saying something about missing school and someone’s wedding so he could fit in all the hours he needed to in order to raise the thousands needed to pay the contractors and buy the materials for his piece of property development. This dedication and diligence made her smile at the time, and opened her up a little more than she’d usually allow. Maybe that’s how he ended up with her phone number and the promise of a visit.

He’d finished fumbling around with that stupid sofabed. Lucy’s eyes itched to hit the sky again, but she maintained her composure and went to sit with him. Immediately, his sweaty palm closed over her slender fingers and his other meaty fist closed on her left shoulder as he pulled her to her right, towards him. She stiffened at his touch, but he didn’t notice right away.

“What should we get up to today, hmm?” he asked her in what she thought he’d see as a seductive tone, but what actually came out as a nasal drawl. “There are lots of things I could show you,” he maintained, concluding the statement of his intention with a slow wink. Lucy stiffened further. She pulled out of his grasp - easy to do; his sweaty fingers slipped right off her clothes. She stood up.

“Look, I can’t do this. I was a little too drunk last night, and I shouldn’t have agreed to come here. I’ve got to go. Please don’t call me again.” She took off out of the room that was lit by “cool” UV striplights, down the extra climb that was worth the privacy and independence, out of the house and out into the brightly-lit streets.

What had all been going so swimmingly had fallen apart in his hands. The failed Romeo sat there, his hands lying limply where they’d fallen from about her body when she stood, and any onlooker would see his total helplessness as he sat there and wondered what had gone wrong…

A follow on from (though in an alternative style to) earlier story, “Yeah, I’d always want to be there…”

“In what world is that ever likely?” Michael asked the Accused in a scornful, sceptical tone. “I’m sorry if you think I’m unjustified in not believing that ‘nothing happened.’ You went out, got her drunk and you slept with her!” A fleck of foam was forming in a tiny ridge on his lip where the skin was not quite smooth. His face was hot and red. Beads of sweat were forming in the roots of his hair, and a droplet was about to descend from his forehead. The so-called Accused said nothing for a while. He stared down that drop of sweat, dared it to fall, willed it to fall. Doing so, of course, did not effect its descent, but when it came, the Accused switched his gaze to meet Michael’s eye. Michael’s glance flickered for a second as he realised that the arrogant bastard before him hadn’t even been looking him in the eye. The corner of the Accused’s mouth twitched in the shadow of a cynical smirk; subtle indication that he’d noticed Michael’s irritation at his glare not being acknowledged. Finally, the Accused broke the silence.

“Listen, Michael, I cannot be any clearer that I already have been. Yes, I slept there for the night. But sleeping in her bed does not necessarily imply I fucked her. How much more explicit can I get than ‘nothing happened’? It’s the truth, and it’s accurate. You need to calm down,” and with a nonchalant flick of his head, the Accused turned away from the fuming Michael and stalked off down the footpath that hugged the shoulder of a worn main road. He knew that walking away would make the furious Michael even more angry, but that was the fun part. The boy had justification to find out the truth, but since he’d already made the truth as clear as was possible, he felt that Michael had no further leg to stand on to justify his growing rage.

Michael was stunned. He wasn’t an angry person by nature, but when he’d found out about his Beloved’s betrayal and the unusual circumstances surrounding it, he couldn’t help but be riled. He’d worked hard in his relationship. He’d played by the rules and kept his nose clean. Not prone to monogamy usually, he’d put all his effort into resisting the advances of countless nameless, faceless and willing girls that, due to his reputation and attractive appearance, were numerous. The hardest part was denying the casual ones. To be free again to enjoy the physical bounty of being young and unattached was only worthwhile because there was no emotional attachment. He’d have no obligation to be an open ear, reassuring shoulder or sympathetic advisor, and while he had no trouble doing those things, to be depended on for them was a little daunting. He didn’t mind so much if he failed himself, but letting those close to him down was his worst fear. Nevertheless, he’d remained true to his word, and he imagined his Beloved had done the same. Though far from either’s first partner, Michael believed there was a special connection with them, and the things they did with each other in private had more meaning because of this. And for her to just throw it all away in one drunken night with this… boy… was just too much to roll off of his genial nature. It hit, and the impact was devastating. She had betrayed him, and he was going to fix it.

He was passing the house with the skip in front of it now. The skip had a door in it, its key was still in the lock. The Accused had had fleeting impulses to return in the dead of night and make off with the lock, imagining some exotic and thought-provoking uses for it. He, of course, never did. A lock and key were not particularly difficult items to come by, so there was no need to acquire this particular set. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Michael was still stood there, his brow furrowed in either anger, concentration, or both. Upon noticing the Accused look back, he yelled.

“I will make you pay for what you have done to me,–” the rest of his message, presumably the Accused’s own name, was cut off by the roar of a passing double-decker bus. The Accused raised two fingers in a derisive V sign and turned back around with an impertinent eye-roll that would have been visible even from Michael’s distance.

If he thought he was the only person who could get another man’s girlfriend drunk and sleep with her, he was intensely mistaken. There was only one way he’d be able to feel what Michael was going through, and that was if the same thing happened to him. He turned to go home to find out who she was and how he could get to her.

Social networking websites were the wonder of the era. From his first sweep of it, he found out her name and the name of some of her friends. He found out where she went to school and one or two of the classes she took, just from reading messages sent to and from her account. Moreover, he discovered the most important fact possibly gleaned at this point in time: the Target was celebrating a friend’s eighteenth birthday party with the traditional social event of excessive drinking. There were only a few places to drink in this town, and finding out which particular place it would be was going to be a matter of trial and error.

He had a small picture, too. This was all he’d have to go by, aside from her name. Fortunately, it was the habit of young girls to make a show of the fact they were celebrating a birthday. There would be balloons, noise and other general attention-whoring. This helped him locate both the place they were holding their celebration and the people in question once he’d found the place. All he’d need was a swift scan to look for groups of loud, celebratory young girls, and he’d find her.

There it was; the party he was looking for. A bunch of reasonable-looking girls gathered around one holding a bright, silver balloon. It danced slowly back and forth as though being charmed by the pulsing atmosphere around them. The pub was busy and dimly lit, so they didn’t notice Michael watching them from a distance. He walked past them a few times before finally heading to the bar for a quick shot to dull his nerves a little. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Turning, he began his master plan.

“Can I buy any or all of you girls a drink?” he offered with his most winsome smile possible. He directed this smile at a few people at the table, not including the Target (whom he quickly identified, even from the small picture he’d found), to maximise his reception. He didn’t want them to deny him a seat because they were not seeking male attention. “Come on, it’s your birthday… the least I could do!” He smiled again, this time straight at the birthday girl. She got a nudge from the dark-haired girl at her side and a few significant glances from others at the table. Good, she was single. She agreed to give him a seat at their table, half reluctantly. She was new to this.

Michael would focus his efforts on the single, birthday girl, urging those in her group to keep up drinking too. Once they’d had more than their reasonable share, switching from the birthday girl to the Target would be no problem at all. From the looks of things, they were pretty new to the concept of having a few drinks too. Faces were red already, and there weren’t that many empty bottles on the table. He knew they couldn’t have been here for longer than an hour, since he was here an hour ago, scouting drinking haunts for the party.

He got up to fetch a round of drinks. At this stage of the night, he had to be careful. Coming on too strongly would definitely scare them all off. He tried to listen to the talk at the table as he walked away; he wanted to know how well his self-introduction went down. There was too much noise, however, so he concentrated on getting the drink order right at the bar. In two trips, every girl had a fresh beverage in front of her, and conversation was flowing that much more easily. They got to discussing sixth form, and then to university. When they found out the university Michael attended, they were all impressed. It was well-known. The birthday girl got the attention of the Target, and said to her,

“Isn’t that the same place that–” of course, Michael didn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence. The Accused. The other bit in his Beloved’s two-bit betrayal. “Do you know him? His name’s–” EVIL. Pure malevolence was his name and nature.

“No, I don’t know him.” The lie was easy. Lies are always easy when the liar wishes they were true. They were smiling now, smiling and laughing. He almost jumped for joy that his plan was working. He figured if he could just keep them drinking for long enough, the Target would easily fall into his hands. It was at that point, his mental jump for joy turned into his heart vaulting into his throat, as with a silencing roar, someone behind him slammed his fist down on a table.

“YOU DEVIOUS MOTHERFUCKER,” came the yell that killed all other noises. This was a nightmare. How could he be here? Michael didn’t want to look. “FUCKING TURN AND LOOK AT ME, YOU BASTARD.” More yelling. A manager was approaching. The Accused grabbed Michael’s shirt at the shoulder and wrenched him up out of his seat to stand facing him. Before giving him time to think, the Accused threw his weight behind his whole body, driving his forehead into bone-breaking contact with the bridge of Michael’s nose. The Accused’s hands were suddenly awash with scarlet, but he didn’t stop. He drew his fist back, preparing to slam it into Michael’s face once again. The manager was upon him. He acted instinctively, although almost precognatively recognising it was a stupid idea to do so. He elbowed the manager in the belly. He’d approached from behind, but not quickly enough to subdue the fighting. Doubled over, he regained his feet only after the Accused had relentlessly driven his rage-fuelled fist into the finely-chiselled cheekbones of his victim. He still had him clutched by the front of his shirt, and was dragging him back up to standing before dealing each blow with a methodical and calculated brutality.

The manager and a doorman who had arrived from the entrance each grabbed one of the combatants. Stronger arms than his enveloped the Accused’s, and he was bodily thrown to the pavement in front of the bar. He pleaded silently with whoever was listening, pleaded that Michael be thrown out too. To his pleasure, he watched Michael be pushed hard out of the doorway.

“You take your fighting elsewhere, boys, but if you stay there you’re going to be talking to the police in a few minutes.” The manager’s threat was no idle one. The Accused himself had seen many a policed incident occur on this very stretch of ground. There was still an angry pounding in his ears, however, and fury consumed his rational thought once more. He had righted himself, uninjured from the ejection from the establishment. He threw himself bodily at Michael and began shouting again.

“YOU FUCKING CUNT, I NEVER FUCKING TOUCHED HER.” He yelled while trying to cause as much pain as possible. There was no way what he saw could have been construed as anything but Michael’s revenge on him, for something he didn’t even do. “I had plenty of opportunity and I took none. I’ve got no interest in ruining your shitty relationship. If you ever come near me again or try and touch anyone I know, I will fucking kill you. I will fucking kill you,” repeated the Accused. His shouting had subsided into a forceful tone, still louder than conversational, but much less attention-drawing. Regardless, the manager’s promise came true. Within sixty seconds of the ejection, flashing blue lights illuminated the one-sided fight occurring in the street.

The lawmen were quick to subdue the Accused’s violent, concentrated rampage. Both of them were dragged to separate cars for the journey to the police station. There was no way he thought he could get out of this, so he resigned himself to telling the truth at the station. If he had to spend a few days locked up, so be it. As long as he could make sure that Michael got the message, he would be happy to pay for his crime. And if it gave Michael satisfaction to see him in chains, so be it. As long as he couldn’t touch the people he held close to him, the Accused was happy to let Michael believe he’d had his revenge after all.