Submission Details

A Love to Die For
A Love to Die For
M Seaman
Yes - full manuscript is available

In just eight days time there’s a wedding. It will be no ordinary wedding as the bride and the best man are in love. This story is about two people, David and Samantha, searching for love and happiness, but along the way they get lost in life’s many ups and downs. Before the big day one of them is accused of murder. On her death bed, David’s mother warned him that secrets have a cost. Does he really know Samantha Jordan, the only woman he's ever truly loved? What was the dark secret that she would never reveal to him? David believes that before he can move into a brighter future, he must deal with the scars of his past and overcome his own demons. His life takes many dark twists and turns until he finally has to face the truth, and make a life-changing decision. He has questioned everyone and everything, until there is only one he can trust. The one he would die for.

Chapter 1

Christmas Day - Saturday, 25th December 2010.
'Do you believe a person can change?’ she asked him. However, as soon as she had uttered those hopeful words, she was filled with immense disappointment by his pale face, lost in a maze of confusion.
He knew her so well and he also knew the smell of danger behind her inflammatory question. She was a formidable opponent in an argument when he was feeling quick-witted, but when he was feeling fragile - he had no chance.
He stood outside of her house, open-mouthed, unprepared for a competency-based interview. Large droplets of snow fell on his shaggy, black hair, aging him rapidly, and December’s cold, winter air numbed his body. His alcohol-charged headache pounded, longing for the comfort of his bed, and regretting he had participated in even one of the many drinking games last night. The fingers of his right hand played with the stubble on his chin, trying to work out the question behind the question, which only lead him to further puzzlement. 'Before you shoot me, aren’t you even going to wish a condemned man a Merry Christmas?’
'Just answer the bloody question will you?’
'Okay, okay, I’m sorry,’ he said. 'For goodness’ sake, give me a break will you? I’ve had two hours’ sleep and I’ve got the mother of all hangovers.’ He had hardly expected another hostile reception, quite the contrary, as during the precarious drive to her house he had convinced himself of the possibility of peace on earth. He had a renewed optimism when he walked up to her door and a positive energy was flowing through his veins. His befuddled mind had somehow managed to paint a bright future for the couple, but this inspired portrait of hope had been vandalised by her stinging response. The last time they met they had made love for hours, but one telephone call had ruined a perfect afternoon. It changed everything and she ended up screaming at him to leave the house.
'Don’t worry, it really doesn’t matter anymore,’ she said, dismissing him with her waspish demeanour.
His eyes gazed at her acid manner and he did his level best to reply to her loaded question. 'Well people try to change, but I don’t think a person’s pre-built character traits can ever change.’
'What a shame,’ she said, acknowledging to herself the right decision had been made.
'What have I said now?’
'Nothing,’ she replied, folding her arms. 'It was my one last throw of the dice.’
'What are you talking about?’ he asked, scrambling to retrieve the dire situation. 'If I’ve done something wrong, let’s kiss and make up. I love you.’ His desperate plea had appeared to appease her when her eyes smiled at him.
'I’m not kissing you,’ she said. 'You stink of beer and curry.’
A wry smile appeared on his face and he replied, 'Is that all you can say to me?
'What do you want me to say?’
'Well here am I trying to win you over and you tell me I stink.’
'You do,’ she said, and playfully hit him on the arm.
'Anyway, what do you expect?’ he said. 'I went to the worst stag party ever last night.’ The flirtatious banter had given him the confidence to lean over and kiss her soft, pouting lips. The snowman on his red Christmas jumper appeared to melt when they gripped each other tightly, and she trembled when his hand stroked her hair, and then the two lovers kissed once more.
Their eyes sparkled when they looked longingly at each other, but their torment was impossible to mask.
'We’ve really messed this whole thing up, haven’t we?’ he said.
'Timing was never our strong point, was it?’ she said, fighting away the tears.
'You don’t have to, you know.’
'We’ve talked about this and it’s for the best.’
'But, what about us?’
'There’s no us,’ she said, gazing at the pain behind his bloodshot eyes.
'If only

'There can be no regrets,’ she said. 'We’ve been through all this so many times and we just keep coming back to the same old, tired conclusion. You’re married and that’s that.’
'This is not the happy ever after I imagined.’
'I know. I know. It’s all gone so horribly wrong, hasn’t it?’ she replied, her heart telling her one thing and her head another, but somehow she knew she was making the best out of a bad situation - believing, he could never change.
'Well, I guess I’ll see you in the church then.’
'Yes, and don’t forget the rings
or the speech.’
'I don’t know if I’m going to get through this.’
'We’re not children anymore. Like it or not, I’m getting married in eight days’ time and you’re going to be the best man.’
* * *
Boxing Day - Sunday, 26th December 2010.
The sun did not shine. An army of dark, sinister clouds, bursting with rain, had camouflaged a multi-cultural town, adding further discouragement to an already cheerless Boxing Day morning.
David Tanner entered the old cafĂ©, and was welcomed by the flamboyant Ghanaian owner, Albert. Albert was affectionately nicknamed Kofi, after Kofi Annan who had once served as the Secretary-General of the United Nations. The tall, wiry figure endured the tiresome request of “two Koffees, Kofi, please” both with a broad smile and a great spirit. However, the tepid joke had backfired on David, as his favourite beverage was tea, but Kofi always believed it was coffee, and he was too embarrassed to say anything to the contrary.
The cafĂ© was hardly luxurious, though it served its purpose, which was to simply escape for a little while from the rigours of life. David sat alone in the corner, by the broken radiator and with his eyes closed in shame, trying to erase the grieving thoughts from his perpetual, throbbing head. Not only was yesterday a day he cared to forget, but also it would be the last day he would see Samantha before she walked down the aisle. If he had said yes to her question, she might have taken a chance on him and life would have turned out differently. However, he couldn’t change, and those truthful words had given her the strength to finally let go of her belief in him. A grin briefly appeared on his forlorn face, when he recalled a light-hearted article in a magazine. It read: “Women marry men expecting them to change, but they don’t and men marry women expecting they won’t change, but they do.”
It had been a depressing Christmas Day, but the love story was over and this time there was no happy ending. However, in his heart there would always be a flicker of hope for Samantha and the light of love would never go out. He was constantly haunted by tormenting voices and the only way to destroy them was to confront and purge them. He had been awake all night thinking through this internal cleansing process and he concluded, the best time to start was today. What more had he got to lose?
David’s inner turmoil was rudely interrupted by the rush of cold damp air when the cafĂ© door opened. Darkness momentarily shrouded the familiar face of an old man when he walked through the door and as soon as he clapped eyes on David, he cracked a smile revealing his yellow and black teeth. His unkempt beard hid his lined face; his large ears were infested with coarse hair and under his unruly eyebrows, his sunken eyes, which held so much pain.
David instantly smelt the stale odour, emanating from the old man who was now sitting opposite him. He was annoyed, as all the tables were available except this one. David just wanted to be left alone, lost in his thoughts today and he absolutely loathed small-talk, hating the horrible, awkward feeling when he’s run out of things to say.
The dishevelled Stan Schulz was a doctor of medicine until his wife died and, for many long years after his tragic loss, he lived rough on the streets of Luton. He was well-known by the community - like clockwork at 10:00 in the morning, he would enter the cafĂ© and be welcomed by Kofi with a free mug of coffee and a piece of millionaire’s shortbread.
David’s lack of memory for names constantly brought him great embarrassment and he commenced the conversation by calling Stan, Charles, after the brilliant cartoonist, which rewarded him with an expletive and a dagger stare from the easily-offended recipient.
The old man’s breath reeked of whisky, his manner brusque and his tongue - razor sharp. He had a bolshie attitude towards the status quo and he didn’t suffer fools gladly. Wisps of salt and pepper hair were scrapped across his head in a futile attempt to hide his bald-pate and ugly thread veins displayed his drinker’s nose. The old man didn’t live life. He just existed. To the younger man’s utter surprise Stan Schulz’s said, 'You look terrible. What’s up with you?’
'Nothing,’ David replied, whilst his eyes were at once drawn to the old man’s ears. He had a “thing” about unsightly hair. He disliked it intently and he tried to divert his attention away from Stan’s sea urchin ears, but he ended up staring at them even more until he caught the old man’s dark eyes questioning his strange fascination. David looked guiltily at Stan and said, 'I’m sorry, but I’ve got a lot on my mind - been up all night worrying about it...but I expect, you don’t want to hear about my problems, do you?’
'Problems? The young people of today worry about everything and nothing until they get to my ripe old age and then they finally realise they’ve been worrying about nothing of any significance.’ He stared into David’s sad eyes and said, 'If you give a poor old man a fiver for a Christmas drink, I’ll let you bore me rigid for five minutes. Five minutes mind, as any more of your drivel would be too much for me old ticker to take.’
'You’re too kind,’ David replied, smirking at the old man’s candour - had life really come to this? He handed Stan a crisp five pound note and took a deep breath. 'Where do I begin?’
'Five minutes now.’
'I know - five minutes.’ Without a second thought he said, 'Well, for starters, I’m in a loveless marriage, the person whom I truly love is getting married next Sunday and I’m the best man. My mum died and I miss her so much. My father and I haven’t spoken for over ten years and oh yes
I’m being blackmailed.’
There was a long uncomfortable pause, whilst Stan slowly digested what the younger man had just shared. Without saying anything, he rose from his chair to leave.
Please don’t go,’ David, pleaded, sounding almost like a helpless child, - 'I’ve got so much more to tell you.’
Stan gave the younger man back the five pound note and said, 'You need this money more than I do, but my suggestion to you is get drunk - get very, very drunk.’ He then left the cafĂ© and a dumbfounded David Tanner to sit and think about the rest of his life-time of secrets on his own.
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Chapter 2

Boxing Day - Sunday, 26th December 2010.
Samantha Jordan stared out of her living room window on a wet Boxing Day morning to watch the rain sweeping away any traces of yesterday’s snow. In seven days’ time she would fulfil every young girl’s dream and get married, but why did she feel so empty inside? She replayed yesterday’s Christmas Day pantomime fiasco when she asked David if a person could change. He infuriatingly hadn’t read her imaginary script and recited some foreign words she didn’t want to hear. She had fed him with so many hopeful lines in the past and he regularly spilled out undesirable replies, so why had she expected anything different. David wasn’t the saviour on a white horse, which she had hoped for. It was a dream - just a dream and it had to end.
She held an old newspaper cutting in her hand. 'You were right, David’ she said - 'just wasted years and endless tears.’ Her beautiful emerald eyes read the article, which she kept securely in her desk drawer. It was a day in which she would never forget and it would haunt her for the rest of her life. Days were the death of her - They sometimes appeared to be too long or too short, but when one looks back on life too few. There were days when she never wanted them to end, but there were far too many in which she would simply choose to forget. She smiled and shook her head at the absurdity of life. When she was young, she wished those endless days would fly away, but when she was much older, she would wish for the days of her youth to be clawed back. Everyone had twenty-four hours in one day, but why did some people accomplish so much more than others? She feared her life would be spent figuring out what days were for and missing out on enjoying them to the full. She resigned herself to the simple truth, days come and go, but before one knows they are all gone.
She screwed up the piece of paper into a small ball and threw it in anger across the dark pokey room and thought: Is this it? Is this all life has to offer? She picked up a large carving knife and stared at the enticing silver blade. It hovered dangerously close to her wrist whilst dark voices in her head tempted her to end the pain, but she instantly dropped it, as if a bee had just stung her. Samantha broke down and said, 'Won’t anyone save me from his hell?’
The desired present, over this magical time of the year, was nowhere to be seen under the bare Christmas tree. She had waited for her Prince Charming to give her the glass slipper, which would of course have fitted her perfectly, but she begrudgingly accepted - this was no fairy tale. She wondered how something so right could go so wrong and her pained expression began to turn into a smile, recalling the first time she ever laid her eyes on David Tanner.
When he was five years of age, his parents bought him a pedal-racing car and he was the envy of all of his friends. They loved to come around to his house just to play with the new car, which had a huge picture of a roaring lion on the black leather-driving seat. The car was the main attraction at his cowboys and Indians party, until a small girl tapped the birthday boy on the shoulder and light-heartedly said, 'Howdy cowboy: What’s your name?’
'David,’ he said, as his legs surprisingly wobbled like jelly.
'Happy birthday,’ the little girl replied, handing a dumb struck David a card and a very large present.
who are you then?’ he asked, but the enamoured boy couldn’t take his eyes off her, even when he received the tempting gift.
'I’m Samantha Jordan,’ she replied.
'You’re not a cowboy or an Indian.’
'I know,’ she said, touching his arm. 'Do you mind?’
'Nah, it doesn’t bother me at all,’ he said, laughing. 'Nobody’s really interested, except in my new car.’
Unbeknown to the preoccupied David, a curly red haired boy defiantly sat in the popular pedal car. His piggy, blue eyes burned with jealousy - staring at his best friend talking to a girl.
David stood, mouth wide open, and with a vacant expression scribbled all over his round face, he gazed at her Shirley Temple hairdo. He had to admit she looked pretty in her pink party frock, but he usually didn’t like girls. He simply didn’t understand them. They didn’t like comics, bikes or playing boys’ games. They would sit in the corner with their silly dolls and giggle with their friends about absolutely nothing. However, this girl was different and he liked her immediately. There was now no feeling of discomfort in the long silences between the two of them. Finally, with a puzzled expression David simply said, 'I don’t know you, do I?’
'My mummy knows yours and so I got invited to your party,’ she said. Samantha Jordan instantly loved being with the shy boy, who had a mop of charcoal black hair. She thought no matter how many times he combed it, his hair would always look messy. David was like a toy - His cheeky, pale face would often glow a bright red when she touched him. She knew he liked her when she saw everyone else playing with his birthday present, but he was totally disinterested.
His newfound friend captivated him. David smiled at her and they stared at each other momentarily. 'I’m glad you came,’ he said.
'Me too,’ she replied.
'What school do you go to?’
'Same as yours.’
Her reply instantly excited him, but he couldn’t understand it, and so he asked, 'Are you joking?’
'I wouldn’t lie to you,’ she replied, with a doe-eyed look.
David regretted ever questioning her honesty and his pudgy cheeks glowed with embarrassment. He knew the girl standing in front of him was special.
She naturally held his hand and said, 'I’m starting my new school on Monday.’
David quickly pulled his hand away just in case any of his friends saw them. 'How come?’
'Well, my mummy is going to get married to a Daniel Patterson.’
'Will it make you happy, Sam?’ he asked.
'I like it,’ she replied, with a wonderful look of delight. 'Nobody has ever called me Sam before.’
'I’ll call you Sam, then
well, will it?
'Will it what?’
'Make you happy - your mum getting married?’
'Why?’ she said, admiring the serious expression on his face.
'I want you to be happy.’
They simply stared at each other until Samantha piped up. 'Well, it does mean I have a daddy,’ she said. 'I’ve never had one before.’
David felt a bit awkward and he didn’t know what else to say, so he just said, 'Oh,’ and unconsciously continued to move his feet from side to side.
Samantha smiled at him and said, 'I’ve got a new house too, and a big garden and my bedroom is pinker than pink.’
The two friends were inseparable for the rest of the party. When it was time for Samantha to go, she kissed her cowboy on the cheek, as his face burned once more with embarrassment, and thought - “David Tanner, I’m going to love you forever.”

* * *
Within a matter of minutes of Stan Schulz leaving the old cafĂ©, David’s mind had plucked out of its vast memory bank another day he wished had never happened. He had more than his fair share of them.
The warfare raged deep inside of him on this miserable Sunday. The brutal scene played out in his mind, triggering a reliving of his past crimes and misdemeanours. He yearned to be free from the shackles of guilt and condemnation, but the devil on his shoulder was building up new strongholds of anxiety in his head by forcing him to relive his thirty-five years on this earth.
The savage rain hit the old cafĂ© window like a drum, but the incessant noise couldn’t deter him from staring into the abyss - His fragile world had been shattered. By saying goodbye to Samantha it meant a closure of their life together, which he tenaciously fought in his mind to resist. He mulled over and over again in his head an old, but pertinent, question. “Why don't we always recognize the moment love begins, but we always recognize the moment it ends?”
David bowed his head, when he thought through the plethora of opportunities life had furnished him, but hadn’t taken, and now he was once again consumed with bitter regrets. He thought of a comment, which he had made to his father when he was a child that “if” was a small word, but possessed a great meaning. His father’s face beamed with pride at the young boy’s wisdom and said, 'If you trust in the Lord with all of your heart and don’t lean on your own understanding and, in all your ways acknowledge Him, He will make your paths straight. Remember this precious gem my son in the good and the inevitable bad times.’
He shook his head and questioned why he only ever accepted the advice he wanted to hear. This had resulted in him having to learn life’s lessons the hard way. His anger and lack of self-discipline had left behind a trail of destruction, which on his own he could never rebuild. In flashbacks, his troubled mind selected those key moments in his life.
He recalled his father trying to warn him away from many of the hazardous pitfalls, which the old man had encountered. David cringed when he finally accepted his father’s preaching was really a heart to heart chat with his wayward son.
David reflected on those missed opportunities and he kept persecuting himself with an overabundance of questions. Would life have turned out differently if he hadn’t have taken the path he was offered when he was six? What would have happened if Samantha had run away with him? Even though he wanted to, he couldn’t bring back the lost time. He didn’t want to entertain anyone’s sympathy either. He had to encounter all this pain before he bowed his knee and asked for forgiveness for all the classified information, securely locked away inside of him.
This proud man had been weighed down by the heaviness of his secrets and sins, but today was the day he desired to make the mess of his life into a positive message for others by writing his story. Everyone had at least one book in them and this was his, and if he could be used in some small way to help others, this entire painful tale would have been worth it.
Having an idea was one thing, but having the drive and the passion to take that idea and make something of it was another, but so many of them never came to fruition due to the lack of a relentless spirit. David passionately believed the plan and the purpose for his life was to write.
He had wasted so much of his time, but this was the day he was going to take a leap of faith and he wasn’t going to give up. He knew the task wasn’t going to be easy. He had given up on every dream he ever had. However, David wished this dream would be different. He then took a deep breath and commenced tapping on the keyboard of his laptop with his index finger.
The cathartic exercise of writing his testimony had already brought back many bitter memories. He had been told the power of the written word could change a person’s heart and renew their mind. Did he really believe it? Of course not, it was all nonsense. How could a person change? It was a wonderful thought, but in reality he didn’t believe it was possible. His negative thoughts hindered him from ever moving ahead in his life, trying to drag him back into a black hole of depression, but he wrestled in his mind against the temptation to stop typing and wallow in self-pity. The dream to keep hope alive began to help him to refocus on the uncomfortable self-examination process. His head was filled with ideas, thoughts and emotions and he was pulled swiftly from one to another - It was if he was on a fragile boat, being tossed back and forth by colossal waves.
One moment he became buoyed by the excitement of finally doing something positive with his life and he wanted to scream out like Jimmy Cagney had done in “White Heat.” He thought, “I’m on top of the world, Ma.” However, it wasn’t long before the passing moment of happiness was snatched away from him and he was once again presented with the dark, unforgiving scenes of his past. An unbelievable pain surged through him, like a sharp thorn in his side, when he thought about his mother, Grace. He typed: Life was full of highs and lows and all the stuff in the middle was the irrelevant padding, which faded away in one’s memory.
David’s mind moved down a path of boyhood escapism. It was his shield to deflect his torment and he mentally ran away from the harrowing picture of his mother’s premature death, rapidly downloading into his head. It was a bitter pill to swallow and he sprinted towards an enticing cast iron door in his head so he could enter another world: A world, freeing him from those haunting images of persecution. The inevitable trials and tribulations were life’s character builders, but he had learnt a secret way of filing them. However, it was always just a temporary solution to an ongoing nightmare. The demons always struck at the right time, but today he was determined to exorcise them. He opened the door in his mind to start an exciting new adventure.
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Chapter 3

Boxing Day - Sunday, 26th December 2010.

David had stepped through the doorway into the world of his imagination and the espionage adventure was playing out before his eyes. The oak moon shone brightly and the howl of the icy wind chilled the steely resolve of Hiro Yoshi. The Japanese Government had employed the prodigiously talented minister and entrusted him to undertake many top-secret assignments, but none like this latest project. He impatiently waited for the 7:30pm train to take him from Tokyo to his home in Yokohama, but he felt an eerie sense of someone following him and he gripped his black leather attaché case tightly, as if his very life depended on it.
A sense of dire inevitability had shrouded the evening and the question by a small boy wearing a white baseball cap and holding a red balloon had resonated in his mind. The child had innocently asked him: 'Why did you become a politician?’ The simplicity, but potency, of the question knocked the Minister sideways and the darkness inside him temporarily lifted, remembering all his passionate reasons of working towards a better place to live for the people of Japan. However, over the years, the greed for power had eroded those beliefs and compromise and skulduggery had replaced them.
As he waited for the train, he thought of his grandfather who had served in the first wave of torpedo bombers, which attacked Pearl harbour in 1941. He anxiously reflected on the immense shame, which he would bring upon his proud family, if the world ever knew what lay in his hands.
The ambitious Minister had made a grave mistake, as in his relentless pursuit to rule his country he had foolishly entered into a blood contract with the leader of an organisation called Morte. This reckless act meant, he had to steal and smuggle out of the guarded government fortress many secret documents and he felt as if he had sold his soul to the devil.
He restlessly looked around and knew he wouldn’t feel safe until he finally left the country, which he loved for good. He had sacrificed everything and in his case was the dark secret, which would not only incriminate him, but would upset the world’s current balance of power.
Hiro Yoshi finally breathed a huge sigh of relief when he finally entered his flat, yet within a matter of seconds the astute Minister felt something was terribly wrong. He rushed into the living room, leaving the front door wide open, and saw a note on the table, which read, “It’s over. You’re dead.”
A tall man dressed in black stood in front of the doorway and a Glock 23 handgun was pointing straight at the Japanese Minister’s head. Yoshi had partaken in many intricate negotiations in his time, but this was going to be one too many - his dexterity in word play would be fruitless. However, he still wouldn’t capitulate.
An arranged swapping of cases at the train station had gone to plan, but had the man in black observed the switch? During the sparse dialogue between the two men, Hiro Yoshi coolly opened the briefcase and gazed at an old Nambu pistol.
He resigned himself to an honourable death, but as he clumsily grabbed the gun a single bullet struck his chest and the piercing blue eyes of the assassin instantly saw the Minister become a piece of Japanese history.
David Tanner would never cease to be amazed by the never-ending capacity of the human brain. His body was in a cold café in Luton, but at the same time his mind had propelled him across the other side of the world to witness a murder. His innovative mind kept distracting the aspirant writer by luring him to open the many doors of temptation.
Over the years, David had become hard hearted to another loss of life by watching the news on the television. However, the subliminal shots of his mother regularly reminded him of it being a different matter when the death affected him personally. He peered around the imaginary door to see if the painful images of Grace Tanner lying in the hospital bed, making a deathly eerie sound, had disappeared. He breathed a sigh of relief - the coast was clear. David was back once again in the real world and he continued to tap away on his keyboard whilst his mind reminded him of yesterday’s events once more.
He glanced out of the café window and longed to be with Samantha. Where was she? What was she doing now? Was she thinking about him? A week today and Samantha would be walking down the aisle and he would be watching, as the love of his life was getting married to someone else. And when the priest asked if anyone objected to this marriage, let them speak now or forever hold their peace, how could he refrain his tongue from crying out. He loved Samantha and his heart ached for her. He wished she was here with him - holding him tight.
David recalled a lazy Sunday afternoon he spent with her. It was 1993 - the year of “Schindler’s List” - “Jurassic Park” and the song, which many people couldn’t get out of their heads at the time - “Mr. Loverman” by Shabba Ranks. They were just seventeen - having fun and enjoying a picnic in the park - lying on the grass with the sun light shining down on them.
Samantha looked at her cowboy and then laid her head on his chest. She began to toy whether or not she should ask him a burning question, but after a while it was simply too hot to keep inside of her. 'What if there was no right or wrong?’ she said. 'What would you do?’
Samantha wasn’t the type of girl to ask a question for the sake of asking one. He was sure she had a more personal, ulterior motive. He wondered where this conversation was leading to and as his natural instinct was to err on the side of caution, he decided to tactfully play a straight bat. 'I don’t know,’ he replied. 'What about you?’
'You’re not getting out of the question that easily sunshine,’ she said, sitting bolt upright, and gazed at him in a surly manner. 'C’mon, start to use your old grey matter for once in your life.’
David inspected her with his eyes and he thought of a response, which may alleviate the tense situation. 'Okay, then
’ he said in a half-decent John Wayne voice, 'I’d get off my horse - stroll over to the bank - get out my gun - take a million bucks - buy my doll the biggest, shiniest ring the world has ever seen - get down on my knee and say
’ David stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly it dawned on him of his folly - he had taken his antics a little too far. His glowing face resurfaced and he began to concentrate on his breathing, trying to relax.
She held his hand and said, 'Go on.’
'Well I-I-I’d ask um
.’ There was another uncomfortable pause before he said, '
b-b-but we’re just playing the “what if” game, right?’
'So you don’t want to marry me then?’ she asked, making David squirm inside.
'N-n-no, I didn’t mean er... I don’t,’ David said, desperately trying to think of a way out of the self-inflicted predicament, which he had once again found himself in.
'What did you mean then?’
'I do want to
er well, you know
but I um don’t want to... at the moment.’
'Don’t you love me?’
'I l-l-like you very much,’ he said, wanting the ground to open up and swallow him.
'You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet. Had you worried though, didn’t I?’ she said and then laughed forcefully.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief. 'Big time.’
Samantha pondered for a moment and asked, 'When do you think we’ll?’
He quickly interrupted her with a kiss and then replied, 'One day.’
She tried to hide her disappointment and said, 'Yeah, great - one day.’ She then changed the subject and asked, 'What do you want to do with your life?’
'What apart from being a superhero, you mean?’ he said, trying not to laugh.
'Oh, be serious for once in your life,’ she replied, in an exacerbated tone.
'I am being serious,’ he said, with a huge grin on his face.
'All right then, I’ll play - you big child. If you were a superhero, who would you be?’
'That’s easy,’ he said, confidently. 'I would be the Demon Destroyer.’
'What? Not Superman or Spiderman?’
'Nah, the Destroyer every time for me.’
but he hasn’t got any super-powers.’
'I know, but he gets the demons out of your life.’
Samantha stared enviously at the grass dancing freely with the cool breeze and replied, 'Then I want to be the Destroyer too.’
* * *
Samantha’s mind took her away from the cowboys and Indians party and she rued an undeniable fact - Her childhood had been snatched away. Her magical pink bedroom had been turned into a place of solitary confinement and, like a caged bird, she still longed to escape from a life of total darkness.
A person was capable of change. This vibrant young girl had been changed by a low-life - A piece of scum. Her mind wrestled with her condemning demons who were shouting, “You’re guilty - Guilty of a heinous crime.”
'He gave me no choice.’ She screamed back. 'What choice had I, but to
?’She stopped herself and tried to brush her tormenting demons aside. Before long, Samantha Jordan reasoned and said, “Anyone would have done the same in my situation, wouldn’t they?”
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I'm hooked! A great title and an even better read. Looking forward to this being published.
Posted by: Billie Craig on Oct 30, 2015
Very captivating read, good structure, I can see myself buying this if published, Good theme and relevant to everyday life.
Posted by: olu oye on Feb 12, 2015
Great read, would definitely be interested in picking up the whole book!
Posted by: Gareth on Feb 09, 2015