Despair

                This morning, I heard about the tragic and disgusting death of Muath al-Kasasbeh, the captured Jordanian pilot, put into a cage and burned alive by Isis forces. I can’t bring myself to think about his death- the pain, the terror, the knowledge that he could not run away to try to save himself. Surrounded by hostile faces (according to today’s news, one little boy who watched it was laughing). Like something out of the Dark Ages.

                In return, Jordan hung a number of its political prisoners. That was not a good idea. It was simply a kneejerk reaction. Now, in the twisted minds of Isis followers, those prisoners have become martyrs.

                The more I hear about Isis, the more scared I become. It operates completely without frontiers, and its one objective seems to be to turn the whole world Islamic. To its followers, I suppose, reeling from the carnage created by successive western military incursions, it must seem like Robin Hood and his merrie men. But to me, it reminds me strongly of the rise of the Nazis.

                As a socialist, I find myself despairing. Because Isis attracts its followers precisely because it isn’t political. It is fuelled by hate, and nothing else. Not that the West can offer a solution. We look on, itching to bomb somewhere, but we don’t have targets. Not even killing Isis’s leaders would make a difference- Isis is a state of mind. It won’t go away until it’s followers see something better.

                I hope that Muath al-Kasasbeh is at peace. I hope his loved ones can find some way through their grief, shock, anger. And I wish that the human race would stop trying to wipe out the alien, the foreigner, the outsider.

                                                                                *

I’ve just finished writing a flash fiction horror story. Now I’ve got to type it up and send it to Microhorror. I think it will clock in at their word count, 666 words or fewer. It’s a jokey sort of vampire story which gives away its punchline with the first sentence, and I conceived it feeling tongue in cheek.

                To be honest, finishing it was like pulling teeth, and there was at least a fortnight between starting the project and finishing it. Days at a time passed without my doing any more work. I couldn’t even face looking at it, and even when it was three quarters complete, I felt like abandoning it.

                Part of the problem was getting up in the mornings. My old trouble. I’ve been sleeping in the front room a bit lately, on a folding bed with wooden struts, which seem precarious. So I try as far as I can to lie along the metal frame. Not particularly comfortable. And when I wake up, there’s the grinding feeling that you have to fold the bed up again and tidy the room, before you’ve even had a cup of coffee.

                I even have to make the cat’s breakfast before I can sit down. I love our cat, but I do resent the fact that first thing in the morning, you have to scrub out her food bowls. Not a big job, I know, but at that time of the morning, I want to sit down with a warm drink and my notebook, and try to come around.

                My wife and I have made up our row, or, at least, we’re not bringing the subject up until we start rowing again. But my wife suffers from depression, and it’s been particularly bad lately. She said that my snoring was bad, hence my sleeping in the front room. But I fear that even this isn’t helping her to sleep.

                I try to stay positive, I try to make her feel positive, but it’s wearing me out. I feel guilty, but I’m glad when I leave the house and go to work.

                Another reason I was so slow in finishing that vampire story was because I’ve been going off horror fiction as a genre. At least writing it. I’ve begun re-reading M.R. James, and I’ve also been reading some other classic horror authors such as Sheridan le Fanu or E.F. Benson. By the time I’ve finished a day’s work, I want to sink into a ghost story.

                But I do feel like I need to write something else.