The Ghost

Blood on the Pavement

These empty streets. The crowd is gone now. Taste of blood in my mouth. Doors closed. Curtains drawn.

The police car parked down the road.

Siren flashing.

Rain pouring down.

The detective.
Empty Eyes.
My father’s man.
His blade.

Will do what he is told.

Always has. Always will.

Taste of blood in my mouth. Broken teeth.

The wedding ring in the gutter.

Petrol in the rain as smoke stings my eyes.

Lea is gone.

They have taken her to the station.
Last train out of town.

My father's words still ring in my ears.

‘Disgrace’.
‘Traitor’.
‘Fool’.
‘You can’t marry an outsider.’

Her screams,
her cries,
calling my name.

My blood on the pavement.
On the road.

A train cuts through the night.

They called an ambulance.
Sirens rushing from the hospital.

But he told them to cancel it.
Said I was to lay here and die.

I promise you. I won’t die.

Not yet.



The Ghost

And so, I disappear.

Down the road and into town, the bus stop where the rain comes down, you won’t see me.

Outside the pub for a Scottish breakfast, squinting in the sun. You won’t see me.

In the park reading a book, running for a bus on Portland Road.

At the football, in the crowd, standing up, singing the songs.

On the porch with my old guitar.

Playing old songs, new songs, my songs. Till the sun goes down.

You won’t see me.
You won’t hear me.

As the light fades.
The shadows grow.

My spirit runs.
My spirit roams.

You don’t see me.

I must stay alive.



A Little Bullet with Devil Wings

They will kill me.

Figures looking for me.

At the airport, the ferry port.

Searching my house, my possessions.
Talking on burner phones.

Anonymous figures.
People you don’t want to know.

They know the game.
Know how to play.
They enjoy it.

Sit in the club with a drink and a cigar.
‘You remember that one down by the harbour.

Pleading for his life.’

Laughter and another round of drinks.

A conscience they left someplace.

In the backseat of a car.
On a little bullet with devil’s wings.
In a bag of used notes under the floorboards.

They were sent by my brother.
Sent by my family.

To end my life.
To kill my soul.

Give them a job and they’ll do it.

But they won’t find me.

I promise you.



Timeless Rage

Their failure will make him curse me.

My father was a cold man.

Not a 21st-century kind of man.

Barely 20th.

More like a timeless rage.
Since man lived in caves.

Shook his head in disappointment.
Threw a punch.
Broke my bones.
Broke my head.

Said just a matter of time.
Until I’m dead.

His eyes like fire.
For my brother the empire.
All things easy.

For me.
The back of his hand.

I said I didn’t care.

But I lied.

I Am Vengeance

Now you shall see me.

His guards dead.

His shock.

I put the pillow over his head.
I took something.
For me.

I applied the pressure.

Felt him struggle.
Felt his muffled scream.

Pleading for his life.

Until his body stopped struggling.
Until silence returned to the room.

Then I took the money.
The thing he loved the most.

And I disappeared.



Born of Spite

Now you want me.

If you come after me, you better be prepared to die.
You better be prepared to burn your life.

And everything and everyone in it.

You take from me.
I’ll take from you.

Just know.
I’ll be ready.

I’ve had time to remember.
Time to think.
Time to plan.

Looking in my own eyes.

I welcome the fight.
I was born of spite.

All those years you tried to crush the life out of me.

I feel it.
It fuels me.
Energises me.

You want to hurt me.
I will hurt you.

I’m.
Becoming.
More.

More than you thought I could be.



Filling Shoes

More than you.

I see you, brother.
Trying to be dad.
Sitting at his desk.
Taking his seat at the club.
Smoking his cigars.

Fucking his whores.

Trying to convince yourself.
That you are worthy.
That you are cold.
Hard.
Like steel.

Throwing your weight around.
Humiliating your men.

They are laughing at you.
They talk behind your back.

They miss the old man.
The certainty.
The confidence.

You spill your drink.
Your voice cracks.

Your hand shakes as you hold the gun.

You always took after maw.

She was the light.
Until she wasn’t.
Until he buried her.



Brother

I walk through an open door.

Now here I am.
And you too, brother.

Back where we started.

These rain-filled streets.
But different.

Gun to your head.
Years and years.
Things left unsaid.

All I wanted was to be left alone.

But you pushed.
And pushed.

Sent murderers to kill me.
To chase me from my home.
From my life.
Run me down,
Through the towns of our childhoods.

Bury me in the backwoods.
A memory to fade away.

And show you were the one.

Now you can’t atone.
This blood in our veins.
The same.

This rage in our veins.
The same.

We don’t change.

Disguise falls away.
I am not what you thought.

I am a hunter.

You should know.

I was born of spite.

I welcome the fight.

I squeeze the trigger.
Blood.
Brain.
Across the wall.

I do what he thought I could never do.
Would never do.

Goodbye, brother.



Lea

Now they are gone.

Sometimes I think of Lea.
Of the light.

Her laugh.
Her smile.

Walking on the beach.
Sunday mornings in bed.
Records playing.

The smell of her perfume.

Simple days in the sun.

But the light fades fast.
In whisky and blood.

Now.

I have work to do.

Family business.

Bodies to bury.
To disappear.
In the ground.
In the walls.

A world to build.

You all work for me now.



My Father’s Eyes

Sometimes, in the early hours

I see her.
She is with me.

For maybe a moment.
I try to hold her.

She sneers at me.
In disgust.

And contempt.

I count.
Money, more money than you could dream of.

Bodies.
Smashed windows.
Broken bones.

This is my world now.

A mansion at the edge of town.

A wedding ring rusts in the gutter.

She is beautiful, her body naked, her skin soft and hair tumbling down.

She dances like I told her to.

I throw cocaine on her and it falls over her body.

I pull her close and snort it up.

I look in the mirror.

And see my father’s eyes.

They smile back.

(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon