The Fall Guy My heart beats fast as if an uncontrollable train, I right things down, if only to keep sane. The air feels humid, an unbreathable mist, Joey touched my head, 'sit down I insist'. This is my first job, initiation to the #life, My parents are poverty and crime is my wife. I few thousand I hope to receive, Before I make my exit and plan my leave. The signal for go echoes throughout the car, The clown mask I hold only adds to the bizarre. We burst through the entrance weapons in hand. I spin like a dancer not knowing where to stand. Screaming words of noise and senseless sound, A screech of excitement for the money we found. My brain cannot function under abnormal stress, I know now I would buckle fast if under duress. The shotgun goes off not to far from my head, A civilian lies flat shot fast, shot dead. A panic of terror reaches my gaze, I listen intently to what the boss man now says. We grab the money and make for the door, My breathing is laboured as I gasp more and more. We reach the darkness where cold overtakes heat, I run as if bricks are tied to my feet. The getaway car races off through the night, That's when I felt it and they vanished out of sight. Blood covered the bottom half of my clothes, I do not understand, where are my foes? The police arrive and see me and the knife, It remained lodged as it empties my #life. The purpose of my being was the fall guy I see, And now I dwell with only my cell mate for company.

The Lady In Blue The stones are cold, damp and wide, Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The air is fowl, dirty and torn, This is the place where the dead are reborn. A church once busy, crowded and full, Now stands a shell hollow and dull. The#moonshines on it's broken tower, There is no light, no bright, no flower. Some say a ghost occupies it's halls, Many hear screams, her shouts, her calls. A lady with a basket tinted in blue, Her face is young, her body is too. The church is long just like its past, Desolate and forgotten how long will it last, Will the lady roam forever, Causing questions, causing terror. The day I saw the Lady in Blue, My heart sank far and my fear grew and grew. The lady in blue was real, her basket in her arms, I could not stop the shaking nor the sweat of my palms. But then something changed inside, The Lady need not to hide, Her face was pretty, soft and new, She was beautiful, the Lady in Blue. I asked her why her soul remained behind, She touched my hand, it was cold but kind. My soul had a task, business incomplete, I looked in her eyes, a gaze I could keep. I know now what my soul longed for, True love to walk through the church door. It is you my love I have waited to see, I knew right then her true love was me. She walked with me around and around, A spiral stair that rose up we found. I climbed fast and hard with the Lady in Blue, To a place, to a sight only she knew. Once there, the Lady kissed me on the cheek, I felt warm and alive standing high on the peak. I never knew the power of love, But then in a moment a felt a great 'shuv'! I hit the concrete with an almighty blow, Before I knew it I had entered deaths door. I watched in my soul as my body floated away, I could not feel anything, I had nothing to say. The next thing I knew I was back in the church. Confused, angry and dead I was now on a search. To find the ghost who killed me dead, The Lady in Blue is what she said. I found my beautiful Lady in Blue, She kissed me and smiled and told me she knew. Forever you want to spend I see. Forever you can stay, you're a ghost like me.

To War He Goes It's Tuesday night and off he goes, Down and down towards south shores, He rides with a ticket and a pack sustain, I cry inside but outside refrain. My younger, a man I admire, A boy of knowledge, strength and much more to inspire, His eyes are hard and his hands glimmer, To know he knows he'd long to be with her. My mother sobs, my father holds, We wait in anguish to see just what unfolds, He's off to fight, to fight he will go, I hope he returns from the place on the shore. To fight with men who know nothing of war, To visit a place that is the banishment of law, To rid the world of an evil madness, To kill the enemy that could not care less. My brother embarks on his great adventure. Here I stay, to moan, to argue to lecture. But so I know the courage he will hold, And so we wait for the story to unfold.

Inner Voice Sweat dripped from Ahmed's forehead down to his dirty white collar. Black hairs from his chest rose up through his unbuttoned shirt and his hands were shaking to the rhythm of the ticking clock on the wall. 'You're wife and three children will be taken care of', Mekiz explained. Although the room was cool and a small plastic fan spun loudly from the corner of the cramp room Ahmed could not control his temperature. He held his daughters close and although he felt the urge, no tears would fall from his dark eyes. 'I know you will take care of them Mekiz, I know they will live a #life I could not give them'. His daughters sat so still and with barely a whisper sobbed for their father. 'May I have a moment with my family' Ahmed said nervously. 'I am afraid, the time has come to do Allahs work' Mekiz explained, stubbing out his cigarette on the rough floor. Ahmed kissed his girls, looked hard into the eyes of his son but said no words. He turned to his wife and nodded, his wife knowing no loving goodbye would be fitting to a warrior of God could only look to the ground in anguish for her Husband. Mekiz stood and placed his hand on Ahmed's cheek, 'it is time' he said and guided Ahmed to the door. Ahmed and Mekiz made their way out into the hot summer air and climbed into the back of a red Ford escort. The seats were worn down and safety belts had long been stripped and sold for parts, two associates of Mekiz were up front and although the never said a word Ahmed noticed the driver glancing at him from his central mirror. 'What you are doing will be remembered forever, you are a messenger of God and a soldier of Islam'. Ahmed could do nothing but think of the look from his wife's eyes as he sat engulfed by fear and confusion. 'You will soon be with our comrades, they are waiting for us at the station, out mission is almost complete'. Ahmed wasn't even listening anymore, he could only wipe the sweat from his palms on his dark trousers and allow his eyes to wander across the Turkish plains. He knew there was no going back now. Chapter 1 'Captain!' Pops shouted from the corner office of HQ, 'yello' the cool, calm voice of Joseph Cradle rang out. 'Its on, you were right 2 dead and four injured'. Pops was known for his loud angry tone and being the eldest of the squad he demanded and earned the respect of the team. 'Where?' Cradle shouted back, a pause as Pops gathered the information from his on screen report. 'Lancaster station 20 minutes ago', Cradle dropped his phone and closed his laptop, he pressed the intercom that lay on his desk waited for the reverb to simmer then called out, 'load up we leave in 10'. Head quarters was a hive of activity as men ran to the armoury and gathered equipment from their lockers. Captain Joseph Cradle a once commando and now leader of an anti-terror group in the UK gathered his bag and ran for the door, 'third attack this week' he murmured to himself. The land rovers were loaded up in 8 flat and the squad were already waiting for the off. Pops drove the front vehicle whilst Jordan Haimes and Kain Proves drove the second and third. Lancaster was their destination, a 3 hour drive at the most. Chapter 2 The smell of beer permitted any other vapour reaching anyone's senses. Though the smoking ban came in a few years ago now the men still sat around with their cigarettes and cigars. The strong Irish accents were heavy and even heavier with the alcohol fuelled conversations. Eddies bar was a known IRA meeting place, sitting in the centre of Belfast within an Irish a Catholic community. Politicians and fallen comrades were framed around the walls, painted images of masked assassins carrying automatic weapons covered the once white bricks. For a neutral this would be a place where nightmares are born. The time is 3.20 am and Finbar Recce raises his glass to an on looking crowd, Finbar is known as a 'techy' a computer whizz. Three days ago he hacked into the online Royal Mailing service, there he planted a virus that disrupted thousands of deliveries across the UK for 2 days. The problem was Finbar viewed the attack as a success and thus his initiation to the IRA. Unfortunately for Finbar some of the IRA long standers did not see it as such, they viewed the attack as bringing unwanted heat to Belfast and stirring up the resting lion. Finbar began slurring his words, "To t' next journey we embarke, those screws will burn, my true Irish compan..", before he had time to explain his #quote Michael cracked him. Michael Mather was 62 years old and a veteran of murder, violence and death. A fist dressed in knuckle dusters met Finbars nose and opened it like a spilled glass of red wine. Finbars head snapped back against the solid brick wall, before he could gather himself another smash burst his eye socket and sent him crashing to the floor. Michael picked up Finbar by his collar and dragged him over to the bar. Michael grabbed an ice bucket, emptying the frozen cubes over Finbars head and the repeatedly dropping it heavy steal bucket onto his head. Each blow made the watching men flinch and jolt their shoulders, no one dared move nor did anyone speak a word. Finbar felt his soul leaving his battered body, he was unconscious but could sense that death was momentary. Michael finally stopped, without even a thought he pulled out a small pocket knife from his jeans, flicked oped the blade and inserted it directly through Finbars throat. As Finbar slowly faded, the extreme violence had lasted barely thirty seconds, the other men were men of violence themselves but still appeared stunned. As Michael sat back down in his seat, he picked up his glass and drank a small sip, whipping his mouth and assessing the blood on his hands, he opened his wide, dark eyes. "We do not lecture, nor do we shout about ar' plans", his accent was strong and deep Irish. The men looked at him still unable to speak nor understand what he was saying, Michael pointed to the sky and simply replied "you never know who might be listening". "Are'tu ya talking about God" Adrian Mathy said, "no you fecking prick, the English".