B is for Stealing

14. He took pleasure in seeing her dress for work.   Grey career suit. Black turtle neck. Small  jade earrings. One ring.  The pen. And then there  were the pink stilettos. She had never  subscribed to the primary colours of women - pink,  salmon, hysteria – but somehow, the pink  worked well on her. It was a hint. A tickling of  the imagination. This t ightly wound business class was… more.  He knelt and placed the pink on her massaged feet. Gordon lingered.  It was an act of seduction. But also, it was an act of worship.

13.  Gordon stood before the gates of Hell.  Beyond the gates, he could hear the cackling sound of sloth. He was not  amused but he needed to be here. He pushed them open and walked confidently in.  All eyes raised at the sound of  his footsteps. There were many souls here. Frustrated, angry, waiting to be  judged but already knowing the  outcome. He walked on, past those who were there, to deal with the supervising foe that corralled the  group in a hot,  non-functioning sweat box; the only water came from beads of their own forehead. “Where’s your boss?” Gordon asked. His eyes piercing, his voice, a commanding whisper. The supervisor tried desperately to feign a backbone, but with a silly chuckle, ran to get the big boss of these parts.   She came. She gave Gordon the once over. In her hand, the book. On her face, spectacles to watch the spectacle.  Her  round frame belied her age and her maleficen...

12. Always the progressive, Gordon – quite randomly – started thinking about baby names. John and Celeste and Roland and… nothing. He called out a multitude of names, Leslie, Ambrosia, Delroy, Deploy , Peter, Justus… Sera. Nothing sang back. This hypothetical exercise was weighing on his mind. His begotten… with a name as common as Joe; this, his representation should have a name that truly represented. He chuckled, he would call the child ME. And why not. And it came to pass, after many seasons, Gordon played with his phone. 358 translated to FLU but also to something else. Bless your heart predictive text. Elu Ka. The name of his love would be ELU KA. Elu Ka of Gordon. The pleasure, written on his face. Quite progressive indeed.

11. And lo, Gordon was moved with disgust as he looked upon the faces of doctors, congretating round large tables, drinking brandy and cackling wildly; all the while, the sick and the pained lay moaning, shivering down corridors… peeping behind doors. It was the second time in as many weeks that the bile rushed to his lips at the actions of men. This was not what he intended. When he took upon himself the challenge of the documentary, he meant it to be a wake up call to those with power in them. He had hoped that those who knew the sicknesses of the world would be moved to cure the sicknesses of said world. … Nothing! His vision was not rewarded. They that took the Hippocratic Oath had become Hypocrites. An indictment not taken too lightly by Gordon. And when he could take it no longer; when he could no longer stand watching while these goodly physicians praised themselves for staying well, Gordon took in his own right hand, the instrument of his vengeance. This time… This time he...

10. “Brotherly love has been preempted. Do enjoy our replacement feature.” It was called Wanton Lust. It was… Interesting. “Interesting?” she said He looked at the performance. It was fake. The situations were a filler; the acting was unacceptable and the actors…. They were clearly gymnasts. Maybe that’s how this all started out, he wondered. Maybe they were great gymnasts who – sadly - could not get the funding they deserved, because they couldn't secure enough points for the scholarship. No scholarship, no chance at success; no success, despair; despair turns to poor acting skills. But he could see full well that that spark of gymnastics was still in them. Clearly. “Interesting.” She said “Interesting?” he asked She nodded. “I’ve also studied gymnastics…” The remote flew over Gordon’s head as he followed her out of the room.

9. As Gordon’s hand sunk deeper into his pants he knew the order  of the day was going to be reversed. “ No ,” he muttered to the long, empty corridor,  “I am not having this day.”   He turned, took off his shirt,  changed his pants and returned to bed. Phone off. He would not hear from… people , who only needed  him at their convenience. When he rose, he would water his plants, feed  his birds and draw out a new plan.  Yes. It was always good to put one’s hands down one’s pants.

8. And Gordon did look upon the face of the actor, standing at his door. Wet, cold and angry. Gordon invited him in but he refused. He wagged his finger, trying to gather both thought and breath. Gordon turned away for a moment and returned with a towel and a glass. Whisky and water. Mixed. The actor took a sip and was sated some. Presently, he began to yell: “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, GORDON?! WHA… WH… WHAT YOU DO THAT FOR?!” The actor wept. Gordon, not missing a beat took his sketchbook and showed it to the actor. His wet, nubby fingers thumbed through the book growing ever more confused as he did. Gordon’s notes were likened to a physician’s and, quite possibly, only a physician could have possibly been able to decipher it. Possibly. “I don’t understand your handwriting.” “I do. I know what I’m doing.” The finality of that answer was… comforting but the actor required more. “You still have more of that whisky mix-thing?” Gordon turned from his guest, smiling to himself...