Cleopatra VII: Mistress Of Rome!!

Unprecedented Cult

Greek and Royal
Ancient Egypt rulers,
Hellenistic times

Last Pharaoh
Young and beautiful,
Isis in Venus’ throne

Youngest Ptolemy
Rome’s colony

Cunning and Shrewd,
Ptolemy the scapegoat
Lust of throne,
Mistress to Rome

Caesar assasinated,
Caesarion, the child
Charmed Antonius,
Her reign alive

Egypt and Cyprus,
Under siege
Octavius raged,
Second Triumvirate ceased

Roman Senate,
Declared war
Battle of Actium,
They lost

Nowhere to run,
Antonius died
Afraid of captivity,
Took her life

Cleopatra was the last ruler of Ptolemaic Dynasty of Egypt. Though married to Ptolemy XIV, her younger brother, she charmed Julius Caesar and Mark Antony to safeguard her throne on Egypt, a then province under Roman Republic.

She allied with Antony whom she also married, but lost the battle of Actium against Octavius, Antony’s former aide and nephew of Caesar. Octavius was critical of Antony’s actions and his inclination towards Cleopatra. Post the…

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Hunger & Poverty

victorian poor

Who would have believed
in the early part of this century,
poverty and hunger would strike
this country, with such vengeance.

We who were on track
to eradicate hunger and poverty,
a lifestyle associated with our past
would be responsible for its return.

January by Edlittle

With winter making its appearance
and temperatures plummeting,
trying to stay warm, has a cost
what a choice; food or warmth.

Families with children, and our elderly
come face to face with hardship,
with high energy bills and low income
as hunger and poverty strikes again.


DNA Justice Program

SF SmugglerRohad Quark, stood before the court, his nerves were on edge, his face haggard, with widened eyes, haunted by some inner anxiety, as he watched the mallet fall.

A voice echoed around the court.  “We do not accept the defendant’s plea for clemency,” stated the stern looking judge.  “You have come before this court no less than seven times, over the past ten years, for charges of smuggling anything from alcohol to people across territorial borders, but those are the one’s you have been caught for.  However, this time the charge is more serious…smuggling weapons for the Rebel Alliance forces.  You have been caught only seven times in ten years, but the question the court must ask, how many illegal trips have you made…ten, fifty, a hundred or more?”

Thoughts raced wildly through Rohad’s mind.  “What would happen to me now?  He turned and gazed at the judge and smiled.  If only he knew just how many times I had crossed the border with illegal contraband.

“We have fined you, and still this does not seem to deter you,” the judge bellowed in his direction.  “But no more chances – you have not learnt who’s in charge here.”

Rohad shrugged his shoulders in reply.

“You leave me no alterative, but to send you to the planet of Staxa, to undertake DNA remodification. That will put an end to your smuggling ways,” quoted the judge with a smile on his face.

Rohad glared at the judge in disbelief.  Then tossed his long blonde hair back, drew a deep breath in disgust, and fell back into his seat with a loud crash.

“Really!  Mr Quarek, making a public spectacle will solve nothing.  This court has given you every chance to curb your ways, but do you? No.”

Rohad gazed at the judge – as the horror of what lay before him, sunk into every bone of his body.  At that moment, his body went all weak.

“Officer’s, remove the prisoner from the court.”

Two burly looking officer’s either side of him, snapped retaining bracelets to his wrists and ankles, then marched him down the rear stairs to the holding cells, to await prison transport.

It seemed like weeks had passed by, when actually it was no more than a few days, when a tall grey haired man, with wire framed glasses perched on his nose, entered my cell accompanied by two stern looking Enforcer’s, who remained by the doorway.

“I am Doctor Crazone, and I have been appointed to assist in your case.  You have been charged and found guilty, for crimes against the state.”

Rohad stared at him. “It had only been a simple case of smuggling.”

“That maybe so, but you were carrying armaments across border territories.  The court has considered your case, and found you guilty of the charge.  I am here to help you with your sentence, you are to undergo DNA transformation…your thoughts are to be brought in line with those of the ruling government.”

Rohad sat and stared at the opposite wall, unable to comprehend the sentence…”You mean I’m to be re-programmed?”

“In a word yes.  It is all in the genes.  Yours made you a smuggler, as your father before you, but with DNA programming we will change your outlook on life.”

“But why?”

“Trust us, we know what is right for you.”

“All because I am a smuggler, you put me in this place for DNA re-programming as you put it; it is no more than another form of mind control.  I remember stories told to me by my father years ago of such scientific research carried out, but it was outlawed, as it was against the individuals human rights.”

Early the following morning the door to his cell was thrown open and two black cloaked Enforcers dragged him from his bed, and along the uneven ridges of the stone corridor.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, as the sound of fear rose in my voice.

Resistance was futile, for he hadn’t the strength to resist, as he was dragged into a clinical operating room.

Rohad gazed about himself for a split second, as the two enforcers grabbed him by the arms and legs, thrusting him on the table, and strapping him down with straps around his legs, ankles, head and waist.

“What are you going to do?”

Doctor Crazone, walked closer to the table.  “It won’t hurt, well not much, but DNA treatment has proved effective in seventy per cent of cases.”

Rohads eyes watched the good doctor’s fingers slide over some buttons, and fine rods penetrated his skull, and that was the last thing he could remember, the pain was excruciating.

As the months passed by the treatment continued.  Every day he was subjected to the treatment, as every thought of his past was erased from his mind.

Rohad knew nothing of his past life, by the time his treatment was completed.  He had a new name and face, spoke in a voice that sounded more educated than he knew it to be, and was trained as an Enforcer, catching smugglers crossing territorial borders with their illegal contraband…just as he used to.

Rohad shakes off the last of his nightmares, of his former life, and prepares himself for his monthly assessment, as he had done so since taking up the position as an Inter-Space Enforcer.

No matter what he does, he is still gaunt, still as hollow-eyed as a walking corpse.  Still feels like one of them, but deep inside his old life was breaking away the DNA programming, and making its way to the surface.

He went through the full DNA Program, through every painful step of it.  He atoned for his crimes.  They rebuilt his body with new DNA, and, and uploaded new thoughts into his mind.  Finally they released him, to begin his new life…working for the government.

Doctor Crazone along with an Enforcer, wait for me in my living quarters.  “I am waiting,” stated the doctor, with an impatient tone in his voice.

I nod in approval, ignoring the threat in his words, and in the tone.

Sensing Crazone looking at his flawless face, and the pristine white walls of his living quarters.  “You still seem to be re-adapting particularly well.  You have had no trouble since our last interview?”

Nightmare of his past life, seem even more clearer with each nights dream, he didn’t dare confess this, as he knew he would be sent back for more DNA treatment, the dreams were better than that.  “I’m still alive, they haven’t killed off all of my own self,” screams out a voice in his subconscious.

“No,” I reply.

“I am glad.”

Rohad cannot bear the next part, as Crazone probes his mind, endlessly hunting flaws, the things that will break him.  His mind endlessly thinks of the final days of the program, knowing it would be enough to block any mind probe of his actual thoughts.  What he would really like to do, is kill the doctor, who took away his old life.

Space Ships 27

Under the pretence of being an Enforcer, Rohad smuggled contraband, in the hold of his ship.  What the authorities were unaware of, he was using his position to put the competition out of business.

As each month passed by, the monthly assessments were getting harder to fool the authorities, as the procedure was wearing off, his old memories were returning…it would only be a matter of time, before he would return to his old ways all together!

Wallpaper Images

Julius Caesar held for ransom


In the year 75 BC, Julius Caesar was taken prisoner by Cilician pirates, and held for thirty-eight days in Dodecanese islit of Pharmacusa, south-west of Anatolia.

When Caesar heard, they were asking only twenty talents, he was shocked, proclaiming he was worth at least fifty talents.  The ransom demand was increased.

With the ransom paid, Caesar was released, and he vowed to his captors, he would return and slay them, taking back the ransom money.

Julius Caesar Framed

Julius Caesar

Julius Caesar wanted revenge; he was going to dish out his own style of justice.  Ceasar acquired four galley styled ships and 500 legionnaires to hunt down these Cilician pirates.  350 pirates were captured and Roman Praetor Junius feared repercussions, at a time when relationships between Romans and pirates were fragile.  Caesar sensed Junius would fine them, and then let them go.

Caesar wanted justice… he secretly seized thirty Cilician pirates, slit their throats and crucified them.  The bonus being he recovered the ransom money.

Wikipedia Images

Guy Fawkes: 5th November

Guy Fawkes

Guy Fawkes was born on 13th April 1570, at Stonegate, Yorkshire.  His father Edward Fawkes was a notary proctor of the ecclesiastical courts and an advocate of the consistory court of the Archbishop of York.  His mother Edith Blake was a descendant of the Harrington family of prominent merchants from York.

His father Edward Fawkes died and was buried at St.Michael-le-Belfry on 17th January 1578, and left him a sizeable inheritance when he attained the age of twenty one.

His mother Edith Blake re-married Dionysius Bainbridge, and between them they made use of Guy’s inheritance, before he came of age.

Guy came of age in 1591, and proceeded to dispose of part of his inheritance; the Clifton estate that he had inherited from his father.

Guy Fawkes left his homeland in the early 1590’s, with one of the Harrington cousins, who later became a priest.  He enlisted in the Spanish Army under the command of Archduke Albert of Austria, who went on to be Governor of the Netherlands.  Fawkes rose to the position of a Commander when the Spaniards took Calais under the orders of King Philip II of Spain in 1596.

Guy’s appearance was one of presence.  A tall powerfully built man, with reddish brown hair, flowing moustache and a bushy beard.  During the battle of Nieuport in 1600, he came to the attention of Sir William Stanley, Hugh Owen and Father William Baldwin, when he was wounded during the battle.

Guy went to Spain on behalf of Sir William Stanley in February 1603, and with the assistance of Christopher Wright seeked out Spanish support for an invasion of England upon the death of Queen Elizabeth.  Upon his return Sir William Stanley presented him to Thomas Wintour.

In late spring, Guy was invited by Robert Catesby to accompany Thomas Wintour to Bergen in order to meet with the Constable of Castille; Juan De Velasco, who was due at the court of King James I to discuss the treaty between Spain and England.

In May 1604, Guy Fawkes met with Robert Catesby, Thomas Percy, John Wright and Thomas Wintour at the Duck and Drake Inn, in what then was considered a fashionable part of London.  It was here under oath, the gunpowder conspiracy was formed.

March 1605, saw the members of the conspiracy fill the cellar beneath the Houses of Parliament, with barrels of gunpowder, iron bars and faggots.

The scheduled opening of Parliament on 28th July 1605 was delayed to 5th November due to the ever present threat of the plague.

May 1605, Guy travelled overseas, and informed Hugh Owen of the plotters plan.  Somehow his name reached the ears of Robert Cecil; First Earl of Salisbury, for he was a well known Flemish Mercenary, but the information did not reach him until late November, well after the plot had been discovered.

Guy returned to England, and he and Wintour discovered in August 1605, that the gunpowder had decayed, and ordered more gunpowder was brought in.

Guy Fawkes final role in the plot was to light the fuse, and escape across the Thames.

A few conspiritators were concerned for the safety of fellow Catholic’s who would be present at the opening of Parliament.  Lord Monteagle received a letter, warning him to stay away, and showed the letter to King James.  The King ordered a search of the cellars under Parliament in the early hours of 5th November.  Sir Thomas Knyvet, caught Guy Fawkes leaving the cellar shortly after midnight… they discovered the hoard of gunpowder, and averted the blowing up of Parliament.

Under interrogation, Fawkes said it was his intention “to blow you Scotch beggars back to your native mountains, and place Princess Elizabeth on the Throne.”

The eight plotters; (Guido Fawkes – Thomas Wintour – Robert Wintour – Ambrose Rookwood – Robert Keyes – Thomas Bates John Grant – Robert Catesby) were found guilty of treason, and condemned to be drawn backwards to their deaths, by a horse.  They were to be put to death halfway between heaven and earth.  Their genitals would be cut off and burnt before their eyes and their bowels and hearts removed.  They would then be decapitated so they might become prey for the fowls of the air, by order of The Attorney General; Sir Edward Coke.

Guy Fawkes body parts were distributed to the four corners of the Kingdom, as a warning to other would be traitors.

(Image) Guy Fawkes: Ancient Origins

Spencer Perceval P.M. Assassinated

Spencer Perceval PM

Spencer Perceval

A date that will always be remembered, in the corridors of Parliament.  For it was on the 11th May 1812, when the then English Prime Minister, one Spencer Perceval was assassinated in the Palace of Westminster…

Spencer Perceval was born on the 1st November 1762, to the aristocratic family of the Earl of Egmont.  The young Perceval attended Harrow School and Trinity College, Cambridge.

In 1786, aged twenty-four, Perceval was called to the bar.  Come the early years of the 1790’s his success and publications against the French Revolution, led to him being appointed junior counsel in the prosecution of political radicals; Thomas Paine and John Horne Tooke.  Then in 1796 became King’s Counsel and bencher at Lincoln’s Inn.

Perceval as an evangelical Anglican, was true to his beliefs, and saw Sunday as a day devoted to religious thoughts.  In 1790, he married Jane Wilson, and the pair were blessed with twelve children.

In 1796, Perceval made his mark in the world of politics, first being elected as MP for Northampton, and his speech of 1798, making himself a contender for a position in William Pitt’s administration.  In August of 1798, appointed Solicitor to the Ordinance and in 1799 Solicitor General to the Queen.  Serving Prime Minister Henry Addington from 1801 as Solicitor General and later Attorney General, becoming William Pitt’s chief law officer in the Commons for political trials.

Spencer Perceval prosecuted the revolutionary Colonel Edward Despard, for plotting the seizure of the Tower of London, Bank of England and assassination of King George III.  He was found guilty and executed for high treason in 1803.

Reluctantly he gave up his lucrative legal practice, becoming Chancellor of the Exchequer and leader of the Commons in March of 1807, during the Duke of Portland’s leadership.  On the 30th September 1809, his name was put forward to the King, as the Cabinet’s choice of Prime Minister.

Spencer Perceval, England’s Prime Minister, started out on rocky ground, with the Walcheren military expedition to the Netherlands, where some 4,000 soldiers died, a high proportion of those being attributed to disease.

John Bellingham Plaque

John Bellingham an export trader from Liverpool had been charged and found guilty of owing money in Russia of 1804.  He pleaded with British Authorities for assistance in fighting his case for injustice.  His pleas went unanswered.

In 1809, Bellingham a very bitter man was released and returned to England, after serving a five-year prison sentence.  He resented the British Authorities, and sought compensation…  No one was willing to hear his claim.  Insanity had taken hold of him, and believed he would get his day in court, if he shot the Prime Minister.

On Monday the 11th May 1812, John Bellingham entered the lobby leading to the House of Commons, and sat close to a fireplace.  Concealed about him, was two loaded pistols.

Around 5.15pm Spencer Perceval, Prime Minister entered the lobby entrance, to the House of Commons.

Spencer Perceval Assassination

Spencer Perceval Assassinated

John Bellingham rose to his feet, removed one of the pistols, walked towards the Prime Minister, fired without uttering a word.  The Prime Minister called out; “I am murdered.  I am murdered,” collapsing to the ground with a fatal bullet wound to the heart.

The thirty-five year old John Bellingham returned to his seat, waiting to be arrested.

On the 15th May Bellingham’s trial took place at the Old Bailey, where he pleaded not guilty to the charge of murder, telling the jury, his actions should be a lesson for future Prime Ministers.  He believed by shooting the Prime Minister, the court would listen to him, and understand why he did it. The court was not prepared to listen to his claims, having committed an act of murder against the Prime Minister.

The jury took only fourteen minutes to reach a verdict, upon which all members agreed; Guilty as charged.

The Lord Chief Justice told the accused: You have been convicted by the court, of wilful and premeditated murder!

John Bellingham was hanged on Monday 18th May in front of Newgate Prison.

Spencer Perceval will be remembered as the only English Prime Minister to have been assassinated!

(Image) Spencer Perceval: London Historians
(Image) Spencer Perceval Assassination: Wikipedia
(Image) John Bellingham Plaque: Wikipedia

Dentist: Love or Fear?

Early Dentistry

I don;t know if other’s are like me, when it comes time to attend the yearly dental check up… Fear and terror comes to mind, and its worse still, if one is advised a filling is required…  So enjoy story on dentistry…


I was browsing through a stack of magazines at the dentist’s surgery, among the stack was a glossy booklet, entitled: The Future.

I found myself hooked on it as I glanced at the articles, mainly on science-fiction origin, at the time I’d thought this was not the normal type of magazine one expected to find in a waiting room.  A  collection of articles and stories on the future of the world, and advanced human and alien races, which set my mind racing from this world to the next.

Before I was able to finish it, the nurse broke my trance, calling my name and escorted me to the treatment room.

My time in the chair was spent thinking of that pocket-sized magazine.  In fact, I couldn’t remember much about my time in the chair, the whole session started and finished very quickly.  I can’t remember feeling anything.  When the plastic bib was removed, I returned to the waiting room, for the magazine, and sat down and finished the story, much to the dismay of the receptionist.

Shock, went through my body, surprised to find the story I had been reading on “advanced human and alien races,” had actually been written by my dentist: Mr Chambers, with a photo of himself set within.  It spoke of the different cultures found on earth in relation to human and alien races.

The dentist; Mr Chambers entered the reception area, and I approached him with a copy of the magazine firmly clasped in my left hand.

“I see you have my magazine,” unable to take his eyes off it,”you have read it haven’t you?  I can see by the look on your face.”

“I sure have!”

He showed disappointment in my reply, his face showed pain.  “I’m sorry, but that wasn’t for general reading.  I suppose you have also read my article?”

I just nodded in reply.

“These articles state, that all the enclosed is true, is that right?”  I gazed straight into his deep blue eyes.

“Of course, it all is.”  Chambers replied in a confident voice and manner.  “How else do you think I keep my prices down?  I’m really a sponsored missionary dentist from another culture, another race!”

In a stunned look, “but it’s all in English,” I replied.

I gazed at him, trying to comprehend what I was being told. If what I was being told was true, then it explained everything from a standard filling to a crown was so inexpensive.  Before today, I thought I had been fortunate in finding such a reasonable priced dentist, more dedicated to his profession, than in the money that could be earned.

Finally I paid my meagre bill, arranged my next check-up, and left the surgery.  All the time one thought kept nagging away at me: referring to us as a primitive culture, leaving many questions unanswered in my mind.

Six months passed by; no reminder received the previous week to my check-up, but on the day of my appointment, found the surgery all boarded up, and according to the local store across the road, it had been closed these past four or five months.

It was then, that I wondered if the dentist had been telling the truth after all, but at the time it seemed preposterous.

According to the Local Health Authority, all patients who were on Mr Chambers books had been transferred to the Highfield Dental Practice, but none of the patients dental records had been passed on.


Upon a visit to the dental practice, work was required, and when the dentist asked me to open my mouth wide, while I give you an injection to deaden the pain – utter shock went through every inch of my body.

“An injection?  For the pain?  I never had an injection all the time I was with my previous dentist, and felt no pain at anytime.”

The dentist looked at me in a bemused look of astonishment.  “Well, I have got to drill out the old filling and refill it anew.”

“Drill, did you say drill?  Isn’t that a bit primitive these days?”  I asked in an apprehensive manner.

He said.  “Please open a bit wider…” never questioning my comments, he just let it pass.

Just who or what was my previous dentist; human or of alien culture, no one will ever know, but questions have been left in my mind to ponder.

Right of Justice

Writing Scene 1

10.20am March 20

It was a brisk Saturday morning that March 20, 2016.  Snow had all but melted, as sun burst through the clouds.

There had been trouble between Twenty-one year-old Hannah Brower and Mathew Seabright, twenty-three the night before, at the local watering hole.

They seem to have gotten over it, as they headed up to Jackson Heights Holiday Camp on the ridge, over looking Lake Garda, with the breaking of a new day.

Hannah saw it first, legs partly sticking out from behind some logs.  She stopped in her tracks, popping her head round, expecting to see a vagrant, not a man bludgeoned to death, partly buried in the snow.  She gave a slight scream, and thrust her face onto Mathew’s shoulder.  “Look,” she pointed out.

10.50am March 20

Hannah and Mathew hurriedly walked along the ridge, to the home of Richard Daniels.  Hannah was still shaking from the gruesome sight of the body, and the police were called in.

Lieutenant Carmichael took the call and ordered Pete Carrigan to investigate.  Officer Paul Marks accompanied him.

11.30am March 20

Police Officer’s soon reached the scene to discover the body partly immersed in snow.  Carrigan observed on closer inspection; maggots in the wounds.  Close to the body was a man’s wallet containing a driver’s license in the name of Sal Cornick, nothing else…no money or cards.

3.00pm March 20

Closer inspection of the area revealed sixty-one cents, keys, and a long handed axe, believed to be the murder weapon.

“So doctor, when and how did he die?” asked Lieutenant Carmichael.

“We have had a bad winter, been deep in snow for some months or so.  I can’t give an exact time frame, until I carry out an autopsy, but an educated guess would be, late October, but don’t hold me to it,” replied the doctor, examining the victim.

“I would trust your educated guesses any time,” smiled Carmichael.

“In my opinion based on the evidence before me, this must have been a frenzied attack, using the axe to hack him to death.”

The cabins were searched for clues as to who was living here at the time…Carmichael knew a janitor was often employed during the winter months to ward off squatters.

Cassandra had taken on this job as janitor for the winter months at Jackson Heights Holiday Camp on Lake Garda.  It came at the right time, I had just been released from hospital, and we had no money to pay the rent on our apartment.  Our job was nothing more than a sitting tenant, to drive off potential squatters.

It was perfect…we even got paid.

“It will be just the two of us, lounging around in hot tubs and sitting by the fire in the lodge,” claimed Cassandra.  “It will give you time to get back to full strength.”

The snow started just after we arrived, falling with gentle vengeance, as if to apologize for its late arrival.  Within an hour there wasn’t a blade of grass visible.

I liked the place right away.  It was kind of run down; just a main building, a dozen or more log cabins, a pool, hot tubs, with an area set aside for caravans and tents.

After unpacking, we went to the main building and climbed into one of the hot tubs.  We left the door open, just because we could.

We had been there about a month, when he showed up, looking for a place to stay.  By that time, the cold weather had gotten worse, and it had snowed for three weeks non-stop.  She didn’t seem to mind it, tramping around in the snow in her big fleece – lined parka, pointing out the birds to me, and the cold footed raccoons foraging in the snow.

In the bitter cold of the morning, I would strip down in the chilly locker room, run to the heated pool and jump in.  Spend what seemed like eternity, floating in the cloudy water.  Then one morning, I opened my eyes, and there he was, standing over me; our lodger.

“Nice morning for a swim, man?”

I was naked of course.  I felt suddenly ashamed of my body, with its scars, compared to his.

“It is good to meet you, I am Sal… Sal Cornick.”

I got out on the other side of the pool, away from him.  On the way into the locker room I bumped into Cassandra, naked going for a swim.  “We will have to start wearing swimsuits, the lodgers here.”

She gave me a condescending smile and patted me on my shoulder.  “I know.”

“We should invite him to join us some evenings at the lodge?” Cassandra suggested.  “It must be lonely in the cabin.”

My face said everything; I didn’t like the idea one bit.  Still Cassandra asked him in.

Sal built a fire for us in the lodge.  He brewed a bitter herbal tea over the fire, as the wind snapped snow against the building while we sat there wrapped in blankets, round the crackling fire.

Later, I went out to get some more logs for the fire.  When I got back, Cassandra and Sal were gone.  I knew where she was.  I could have stopped it from happening, but I didn’t.  Instead, I lay in the dark, and let myself get angry.

The biggest storm of the winter hit a few days later.  It was a warm one, full of wet, sticking snow that clung to your cheeks.  You couldn’t see more then a few feet through the snow storm.

It lasted six long days, and we had to dig out way out of our cabin.  There was no sign of Sal; his cabin was empty.  We never spoke of him again.

A few months later, Sal was a memory from the past, as was the snow which was melting, and the day we were due to leave drew ever closer.

She was right about this place.  I was feeling better.  My muscles were lean and hard.  What I had lost in the hospital had come back to me in thick ropes around my arms and legs.  I moved with all the grace that had once made me proud.

With the melting snow, Sal’s body appeared, by the log pile, hacked to death… I knew then Cassandra must have killed him.

I lay in our cabin, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the events that had taken place.

10.15am March 25

The chief suspects in the murder of Sal Cornick were Cassandra and Daniel Jenkins, stated the police at a press conference.

If anyone knew of there whereabouts they should contact the police.

2.15pm March 29

Cassandra and David were entertaining friends when police cars pulled into the caravan park, where they were living.  The couple were taken to Milwaukee County Court house for questioning.

12.30pm March 30

Hannah Bower and Mathew Seabright were brought in for questioning, for it was they who found the body.

2.45pm March 31

A statement was issued to the press that Daniel Jenkins would be charged with murder, based on a signed confession by Cassandra Jenkins.

In reply, David Jenkins believes he is innocent, but can offer no alibi.

11.40am May 10

Cassandra identified her husband as the actual murderer of Sal Cornick, stating he was jealous of him.

“Did you actually see him commit the murder?” asked the Prosecutor.

“No…but there was no one else up there” Cassandra replied.

3.25pm March 19

Finally, after nine days and thirty-one witnesses…

“Have you reached a verdict, on which you agree?” asked the judge.

“We have your honour.”  The foreman of the jury looked directly at me, his voice taking on a harsh sounding edge to it.  “We find the defendant guilty of murder.”

My knees buckled as I heard the word guilty, and I nearly collapsed, a roaring in my eyes blotting out all sound around me.

I looked for her in court, as officer’s grabbed my arms.  They were pulling me away as I caught sight of her.  She stood talking with my lawyer, the back of her hand stroking his upper arm.  They turned, looking in my direction, with slight smiles.  I knew then he had fallen under the spell of Cassandra.

Before I was dragged from the court, Cassandra raised her hand – and blew me a kiss.

The door slammed shut on my life…I had been betrayed by my Cassandra, the true murderer…

Wallpaper Image

Young Love


A voice washed over her
drowning out her senses,
swamping her brain
with exhileration and fear.

Wild passion surged through her
she thought her heart, would burst
as words flowed over her
her strength, drained with each word.

A pale lost face, overwhelmed
with love drenched eyes,
struggling against the hypnotic voice
it was just too much, to bear.

She surrendered her resistance
floating on a sea of words,
the voice caressed her
her free will, floating away.



Related image

Under the clear skies with pearls of white words,
I knit my word into my emotion, repeat the process
brush, brush, and blink, blink.
Taking the ecstasy onto my teeth, I feel the caress of my saddest lines,
put it on my fragile white shoulder,
then cut my words and swallow the ink,
this is how I started Poetry.

With a blank space between my fingers,
with a crooked faith,
my breast was swollen with fire, the unflinching desire
thumping my murky pen, producing a river of composed mind,
producing the glitters of fairy dust
this is how I started Poetry.

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