Hey fuckers with my fist in the sky
I will stand against this till the day that I die
When I watch the debates it's clear to me
that this country is blind and cannot see
that this isn't a joke
and it's not time to choke
and we can't risk our lives voting for this bloke
Yeah he says what comes out of our mouths
but there's a reason we aren't all in the White House
because we really don't know what we're talking about
and we just want the freedom to be walking about
It's not that I think we're all mindless sheep
it's that I think we've all been put to sleep
by a presidency
that brought us all to our knees
and it's hard to come back from that treason B
And it wasn't our fault that it rocked our core
that those planes flew in and we went to war
what is this for?
It's hard to take it anymore
How much oil does it take to fill a Ford?
Hey fuckers with my fist in the sky
I will stand against this till the day I die
Call Girls
"So how does this usually go?" She asked, tentatively. It was her first day on the job, and she was shadowing the boss. She didn't want to sound clueless and make them second guess their decision.
"It's quite simple," The other woman replied. She had a grace and poise that were enviable. "And completely humane."
The new girl blinked, trying to convey her confusion in a look. The older woman sighed, "We wait for the call, accept or decline it, wait for the wire, secure the payment, and then go to our given address and do whatever our client wishes."
"Anything?" She hadn't meant to sound so scared.
"You'll see." The older woman said. "We've just had a wire come through. I'll handle this one, and you can watch. Next time, it will be more hands on."
It was, for once, the exact opposite of how she'd thought it would be. There was no passion, no horror. Her mentor acted mechanically. Humanely. The client had ordered evisceration. She carried it out after an untraceable lethal injection. There was no pain, in the end. Perhaps the client would get some feeling after they heard the news. To her, it seemed oddly clinical.
It was a few months after she'd been approved to work solo that she was called in the boss's office. The woman's mouth was pressed in a hard line, as ever, and her eyes were dead. Her face was a blank mask waiting for an expression to be painted on. It was the same kind of face echoed all around the offices. They were, in fact, liars by trade. Well, killers by trade, liars by extension.
"Client expressly wanted to speak with you." Her boss tells her, handing her the phone. She was in trouble. Good assassins hardly got recommendations. She was sure to get a talking to for not being discreet enough for the job after this phone call was over.
She squeezed, past her boss, behind the desk to get a receiver.
"Hello, Miss Lacey's Telephone Hotline, how can I help you?"
"Bye bye, darling."
She had expected an unknown voice. This one had been close, and there was only one thing that could mean.
Her boss's computer showed a verified wire transfer. There was a prick in her neck and almost immediately her eyesight went so blurry she couldn't see what this job had cost. Oh well. In the end, isn't it always thirty pieces of silver?
It was the job of the newest girl to dispose of the body.
Lil´Piggy we will blow your house down!
She sat with her eyes tired and weary, her cheek bones hollowed and her skin grey.
Her lips were dry and chapped in need of moisture, you could tell she´d not eaten anything in days.
Her hair was black, thick and greasy, lank and dusty, her clothing ripped, dirty and torn.
She bent over the table clutching the spoon in her bony knuckled hand, looking towards the kitchen, her nose twitching like a rabbits smelling the aroma that drifted out of it. A fat lady walked over to her with a large white and blue striped china bowl and placed it in front of the girl. Straight away her eyes widened as she saw a simple bowl of chicken stew, it was as though she´d seen an angel. Her spoon was plunged in and lifted out again with a lump of carrot and chicken, straight into her mouth it went, she huffed as it burnt her tongue but smiled as she dove back in for more. This time came potatoes and peas, each spoonful a treasure trove of taste and salvation. The fat lady then brought her a plate with bread on it, simple white sliced bread but to the girl it was like pages from a holy book, she picked a slice up and ran her fingertips over it, as if blind reading braille,
then folded it and dipped it into her stew. She was in her own little heaven, one which most of us take for granted every day.
Her other hand was bloodied and wrapped in a make shift bandage, one of her fingers completely missing, it had been lost in the bomb blast that had killed her whole family. She´d laid hidden for days under an old table too afraid to venture out because she´d heard the soldiers passing, laughing and cussing, calling out “Muslim pigs come out come out where ever you are”.
She was Muslim as was her friends and family but not a pig among them, she never understood why they were hated so much. For several hot days and cold nights she remained hidden away until she heard nothing but a dog sniffing around. With the dog came people who called out “Can anyone hear us, we are here to help?”
She dragged herself out from under the broken table looking up to the sky, up to her God, she´d been saved.
Now she was being fed and later she would bathe and be given new clothing…she was once more a person who mattered. As she ate her eyes began to flood once more with tears, she was all alone now. Who would brush her hair at night, sing her songs, who would protect her? With whom would she play hide and go seek? A child of war of greed, of misunderstanding, of suffering...her and many more.
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© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.
Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent
and any written material is owned solely by the above named.
Permission granted for all written material to be shared but not for profit.
Printing or publishing is prohibited without seeking permission first from said owner.
