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FOGGYDAVES CANTENNA 
THE EVIL OVERLORD LIST

THE EVIL MINIONS GUIDE

OTHER EVIL/ HERO  GUIDES
A FEW VERSES 

NAMES I CALL MY WIFE & SHAKESPEAREAN INSULTS

COLLECTIVE NOUNS FOR ANIMAL SPECIES

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THE REAL MEANING OF HAYNES MANUAL INSTRUCTIONS

SALAD FINGERS

TOMTOM SATNAV SAG BLUES

 

KITE MAKING PAGES

REVOLUTION KITE MAKING

 

CONTRIBUTIONS FROM READERS

STORIES BY HATTYMENDER  

STORIES BY HELEN WORRALL

 

STORIES  AND EBAY SALES

1     AN OLD LAND ROVER
2     EBAY
3     SELLING AN OLD LAND ROVER  
4     SELLING WHEELS AND TYRES
5     A NEW JOB AT THE FUNERAL PARLOUR
6     SELLING VIDEO CAMERA
7     MY BIRTHDAY TODAY
8     WITCHERY PART ONE
9     SELLING CANVAS HOOD
10   WITCHERY PART TWO
11   SELLING CARAVAN HITCHDRIVE 
12   WITCHERY PART THREE
13   SELLING RATCHET STRAPS  
14   WITCHERY PART FOUR
15   SELLING GOAL POSTS  
16   WITCHERY PART FIVE
17   SELLING A HI VIZ COAT
18   WITCHERY PART SIX

19   SELLING 3 TONNES OF CLAY    
2O  WITCHERY PART SEVEN
21   SELLING A WHEEL CLAMP
22   SHOPPING AND THE HESITANT DOORS
23   SELLING AN OLD PAIR OF BOOTS

24   THE REAL DE VINCI CODE

25   MY GUITAR AND AMP

26   SELLING MOTORBIKE PANNIERS

27   HALLOWEEN

28 SELLING A HIGHWAY CODE

29 ZEN AND THE ART OF  LAND ROVER MAINTENANCE

30  SELLING A CIGARETTE LIGHTER AND A TRIP TO SCOTLAND

31  CHRISTMAS LIGHT RAGE

32  METAMORPHOSIS

33 SELLING AN AMBER BEACON

34 THE UNIVERSE IS A  BIG PLACE

35 SELLING A  BLOW LAMP

36 SELLING BOOTS UPDATE

37 SELLING A  TORCH

38 SELLING A MOTORBIKE JACKET

39 SELLING A POWER JUICER

40 SELLING A HORSE WHIP

41 THE BOAT

42 SELLING LAND ROVER SIDE STEPS

43 SELLING A  TOW / RECOVERY CHAIN

44 SELLING LAND ROVER BULL BARS

45 SELLING THE FOGGYDAVE CARRIER BAG

46 CARAVAN RAGE OR AGINCOURT DEUXIEME PARTIE

 

 

 

 STORY 41  THE BOAT

 

I sit in the  boat on a calm wide sea.

I sit in the boat on a calm wide sea on a box, a new box.

The boat has no stern just two prows, two prows ready to go forward, but which way?

I hold the oars I wait.

To my rear  stands my mother, lost in her grief and silent, her back to me leaning towards the horizon, her horizon.

To my front  stands my father, lost in his grief and silent, his back to me leaning towards the horizon, his horizon.

They both think they look forward. Is this my choice? Can one so young make such a choice?

They do not, will not, speak, they are each so sure that they know the right way. Why donít they tell me? Though I know they would each point their own way, sure in their abilities to navigate, to read the compass of their soul. But it would be for me to choose.

I am here, turn to me, turn to each other, look within, and call my name.

Lost in their own misery they do not want to hear. Or do they hear but blame me and want to hide the accusation I would surely see in tear shot eyes.

Lightening flashes from all sides over the horizon as the writhing  black storm clouds roll toward us. There is no direction to go that is safer than any other, wet blackness surrounds us hemming the boat in, relentlessly creeping ever closer. The sea first becomes choppy and with the storm getting ever closer it turns to a broiling maelstrom tossing and pitching the boat this way and that.

Why donít my parents see this danger, surely even in their deepest despair the will for survival must predominate?

Why do I feel so guilty? For even though I bought them to this unhappy place it was they who by their union created the chance that this would be the ultimate cause for their despair? After all I am the product of their grand designs. That it is now grief, and not happiness they feel is beyond my control, but still I am blamed.

They slowly turn and look inward towards each other, towards the box. What do they see?

Did the answer to their salvation reside here? In the box I sat upon?

As one they moved and lifting the box gently let it slip over the side. The boat lightened and steadied safe in the waves that crashed all around but not over it.

What of me?

I slip beneath the waves to eternal peace the pain and burden of knowing now gone, as I float down towards a bright light.

Why did they give me so much pain?

Though there had not been enough time to heal their cruely ripped hearts, it was a start but! They would never suffer as I did.

 

Never be judged as I was.

 

Never be an outcast as I was, still am, and will always be.

 

I sink towards the bright light, an anger grows within.

 

WHY ME? Why me?

 

I was one of Gods children I had a right to live, just to be.

 

That is all I asked.

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Copyright © David B Forrester 2009