Maybe its Room 101

"Owwww" is my exclamation waking up here.  But where is here not only is my eyesight vignetted by grey clouds but through the visual pin pricks that are almost in focus all I can see white, looking around is white and more white.

I am in a white room with no visual means for me to enter or exit but I can still breathe.  Is this the rabbit hole that Carrol so wunderfully wrote about, am I really going to hit the bottom hard and be faced with the ultimate choice to Drink me or Eat me.   Mmmm food, maybe that is it, my blood sugar is low and I just need a good meal in my stomach.

After thinking that I am stood still I decide that I am not falling but stuck in a white room, or is it a fetal state and I am really awaiting birth, No can't be that I have memories I remember my mother, sitting by her bed for days in a hospice, my brother no longer riding his motor bike.  OK I must be dead too, if this is death then I am a little disappointed there are no pearly gates, St Peter is a figment of every ones overactive religious beliefs.  But what if I am not dead and this is what is the result of the large amount of drugs I haven't taken and I am being given the ability to have a pre look so I don't do it.

Maybe if I look around a little more I can find a solution in not what is here but in what should be here.  If this is my imagination then I need to imagine myself some sand and surf, wet suit clad women walking boards into the sea.  If I close my eyes and reopen them will they suddenly appear and all will be well?  Nope still white and still cloudy.  I will have to work on my imagination it has to be better than this, oOOo what was that it felt like something long is moving around the floor, can't see any rubbish so that rules out jumping into the trash compactor with Chewbacca and the others on the Deathstar but on closer inspection I see no Cinnamon rolls.

Aha finally, a table, a white table with something on it, it is a white model of a white high rise building.  A man leaning over a balcony on the 20th floor holding both cheeks in obvious horror and a baby crying lying on the ground directly below him, a woman goes up to the baby and picks it up and gives it a big cuddle.  It is obvious to all that the baby has fallen and is OK, but how?.  A sigh of relief emitted itself from me, it is a model can't be real as this must be a dream.  If I wake up and Paul Mckenna is stood over me with an audience full of clucking chickens I will probably not be so surprised and I hope I am holding a hangmans noose and some sealing wax.

A John Doe Mystery

The officers used the battering ram to break the door down and when Officer Dabbie walked into the room on the other side he saw the body of a man on the floor next to an upturned chair.  Blood spilled from the wound in his head and a gun lay on the floor next to his hand.

The scene was secured and the SOC team sent in to investigate.  Where the man was obviously sat at the table there was an ashtray with a few stubbed out cigarettes lying in the ashes, an almost empty pack of Marlboros, a lighter and an old fashioned tape recorder.

Elements of the scene were tagged and photographed in their positions as they were found.  Office Dabbie pressed the play button on the tape machine and heard the full suicide declaration and when the voice had finished there was a gun shot.  Officer Dabbie said to the room, “Everyone make sure you do your jobs properly, tag everything correctly and get it all catalogued.”

Officer Dabbie pressed a speed dial button on his mobile phone and spoke to the murder team at his station and called them in to investigate of the murder of a John Doe and gave the address.  He waited at the scene and made sure it wasn’t contaminated, the murder team turned up and he handed it all over to them.

Mr Hester the Purple Faced Jester

The purple-faced Jester commonly known as Mister Hester,
Blasts through a red light after his pester,
There is a little burden the one of proof,
He wears like a shoe thrown from his hoof,
For the bejewelled cock he has in pocket,
He knows he will never be able to hock it,
Those on his heals the ones packing heat,
Shoot first ask later a cold piece of meat,
Will pull vital bits of flesh and of bones,
For You Tube videos taken mp4 on their new iPhones,
He managed to lose those shoes that were giving him hell,
A red one with yellow, a blue with green both with a bell.
Still right behind him as he turns the corner,
Almost on two wheels, tyres screeching, tooting his horner.
“Get out of my way” he shouts at the folk,
That could probably get trapped under his spoke,
This is no good Mr Hester starts to think,
I need to dump this clown car with paint work in pink.
For he really does believe he can be seen from outer space,
Retasked satellites that the CIA are putting in place,
The cock in his pocket was taken from someone of merit,
Something to be left to a museum not to inherit,
He mounts the sidewalk and kills a newsstand,
Whilst avoiding traffic following a map stencilled onto his hand.
People jump up and scatter both to the left and the right,
The news helicopter temporarily out of sight,
He goes straight through the next intersection his foot hard down,
Cars skid away from this uncaring speedy clown,
He shouts out loud just to confirm,
“I am a jester!” and all look on to squirm,
Now the people chasing him way back behind,
Are not the police but friends that are blind,
The thought would be nice to be followed by police,
Whilst getting changed he puts on a jacket of fleece,
For the police will ask questions and not point a shooter,
A blahhhh on his horn sounds like a hooter,
Gun shots are heard they bounce off the ground,
Deliberately fired at the wheels of this hound,
His friends they want what they all have stole,
Mr Hester took from them and escaped down the hole,
He took a sharp left speeding on right,
Passed a train over the tracks gosh that was tight,
His pals they were left behind after that move,
He hit the brakes heavy and turns on the groove,
He slowed down a little, enough just to change,
His trousers and hair now don’t look strange,
A wool suit he adorns as he gets out of his steed,
In the car park he can salute his excessive greed,
He walks onto the platform and into a train,
On his way to a place that will never rain,
For he has no fence but a reward was his aim,
I found this on the road just outside that is his claim.