Download first five chapters - John Trevillian

7 PureSome song once said that for every beginning there’s an end. Forevery kiss, there’s a broken heart that will never mend.For every dream, a nightmare.For every prayer, a sin.For every opening door there’s another that won’t ever let youin.Utter cock, but when the day’s smilin’ and bitchin’s over, this iswhat’s in mine.I’m coming home. Been out shopping. I hate shopping. Well,shopping in 3D anyhow. Always end up at the checkout stuck behindthe woman who’s hair smells like old furniture polish. Home is thisthree-storey cavity. Unlit, unfurnished, with walls of crumbling brick.It’s two minutes to four. We’re three floors up and there’s no lift. Thestairs are narrow with only a few stains to suggest the bare wood hadonce been painted. Our hovel’s no better. If the waster artists had aname for it, they’d call it art gecko.Mama’s listening to zydeco on the balcony. Papa’s watching WhosePiss Is This? on the box. Neither of ’em get up to help unpack. Wouldtell you how much I hate their guts, but don’t like to speak ill of thebraindead. They’re like something other that has infiltrated this world.Like some insidious animal contagion that we just can’t shake or cure.Papa is the worst. In a word: disturbed. In another: terrified. Afraid.Ignorant. Ultimately pessimistic. No one word’s enough. He was thekinda daddy who would use words like ‘abortion’ in everydayconversation. Nameless lowlife. At least mama made me laugh. When