The Word Cloud

OK, in the wake of Harry's excellent notion, and inspired by Stephenterry's blog, here's a contribution from me.

This is a passage that didn't make it into my story after editing, but rather than simply throw it away, I thought I'd share. Now don't you be stifling yawns, or nodding and smiling blankly! This is my little boy's very first murder - so be nice.

Thank you!

Jeremy Athelstone killed his first human being in 1971 at the age of nineteen. On that occasion it took him seventeen minutes. He began by hitting his victim on the head with a small axe, as hard as he could. He used the blunt back of the blade, fearful that the sharpened edge might get stuck and be impossible to dislodge.

 Afterwards, he stared at the man and wondered, vaguely, why he had been asked to kill him. It wasn't something that interested him greatly. He certainly looked dead: there was a load of blood and he wasn't moving. Easy money! He was getting a pony for this and it had only taken him a few seconds. His stupid old man worked a whole week for a pony, and then he paid tax on it!

The dead man groaned and started to raise himself up on his arms.

 Shit and death! Where had be put the blasted axe? He couldn't see it anywhere. Oh God! Now the man was trying to say something. I'm not listening – La La La La!

 Panicking, Jeremy aimed a kick which sent the man sprawling again and then he jumped on his neck where he stood with all his weight balanced as best he could. The man made feeble attempts to reach round, but it looked like something had gone wrong with his arms. As Jeremy stood there, swaying and occasionally putting one foot down so that he didn't fall over, he spotted the axe leaning against the side of a chair; too far to reach without getting off.  You moron! He jumped a couple of times, his seventeen stones coming down with a crunch on the man's neck.

 After a while the man stopped moving. Jeremy stayed in place for a while longer and then got off.

Whistling cheerfully, Jeremy washed the blood off his shoes in the bathroom. He wiped what he had touched with a hanky as he had been told to do. There were a couple of bloody footprints back in the room. He used the man's hand like a paintbrush, scooping up some blood and spreading it over the prints to disguise their size and shape. Satisfied, he went to leave.

As he reached the door, he heard a noise behind him: croaking and spluttering. Looking back, he wasn't sure whether the man was moving or not, but he could certainly see little flecks of blood and spit appearing on the floor next to his face. Would you Adam and Eve it? The bastard wouldn't die. Much more of this and he was going to be late for tea at his Nan's house. He wanted to watch the wrestling; he'd been looking forward to it all week. And it was Dr. Who afterwards!

 ‘Right!’ he said out loud. He walked over to where the man was lying, leaned over and aimed carefully. With each blow of the axe he uttered a little stream of abuse. After ten blows, the head was completely severed.

 ‘Now try getting up,’ said Jeremy.

I may have fallen from grace,
but you were never up there.

I may still be trying to find my way,
but I can do without your guidance.

I may have succumb to your demands,
but I value my independence.

I may not be all that you want,
but I am everything I want to be.

I may have asked for strength,
but I am never invaded.

I may have been an obstacle,
but you were a barricade.

I may still be perplexed,
but I am closer to the meaning.

I may make mistakes,
but I am only more human than you.

I may stand alone,
but I am the leader.

I may have been your saviour,
but you are my immense regret.