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Hero for Love
“Reddon Cole, be quiet,” He said:
A teacher; impatient – cheeks turning red.
“Sorry sir;” words of frequent practice,
The green eyed boy,
Full of pride and joy,
Escaped prosecution, detention and more,
Under disruption, mischief and malice.
Teacher came round with ruler,
Faced the child with anger, what not?
Raised arm to the child; ruler in hand
And so stated:
“At the end of this ruler’s an idiot”
Reddon grinned, so grin he did.
Appearing a set of pearly whites.
A smile forming rapidly, ear to ear,
Before his remark;
Defiance, yet stated with might;
So the boy replied, reply he did,
And the classroom was filled with laughter.
Teacher, poor teacher; face hard as stone,
Had been defeated again: By the nortorious Mr.Cole
"Which end!? Which end!?”
So said the boy,
Class shouted “ha-ha!”;
‘Till finally, Silence fell;
Teacher had opened the door.
“Get out, I say!”
And so Reddon Cole,
Stood and left –
Not before glancing to beauty:
At the back of the class;
Eyes paying no notice,
Reddon Cole so wished her to see:
The blue-eyed girl with brown hair,
Sat quietly amidst applause.
Mr. Reddon Cole,
Now feeling alone.
Vanquished the mischief of cause:
The mischief of cause,
The cry for attention,
Of the beauty who sat so silent:
Her head in a book,
While the class so well shook,
The walls in outrageous laughter.
“Azura Green, Azura Green, why do you not see me?”
“All I do, I do for you, you belong with me”
Silly boy, silly boy, no-one likes a clown.
But Reddon Cole;
With love earthly bound,
Hung his head down low.
So there goes Reddon,
Walked out of class,
Head hanging from neck.
A good stroll to the Office,
A phone call or two.
And sure enough:
Dad turned up:
Full of rage and feeling blue.
“Mr. Cole,” Said Mr. Dale:
Headmaster of St. Barrett’s.
“This has to stop”
“Mr. Dale, what should I do?” Said dad;
Anger brewing up a storm.
“Detentions and suspension just doesn’t work-
My boy is bad, bad to the bone”
Reddon sat quietly,
In the reception of the office,
Staring intently at the window.
The window, the window;
His escape many times before,
Called for him to stand, to“GO!”
“Not today, not now” He thought,
As afternoon light beamed through.
Onto spotless marble, a wooden desk with parchment atop.
A pen he drew from his tatty jeans;
Good clothes he could not afford,
He clicked the pen once to reveal its point and scribbled by all means.
He wrote this way, and that way,
Diagonally and messily;
A collage of hatred,
A collage of hell.
He rolled up his sleeve,
There it was again:
Last night diddn’t go so well.
For the last time he was in this room,
His night ended with a bashing,
From dad’s fist, boots and broom.
The bruise stared at him; all black and blue
Which he so concealed heavily,
from sight, from view.
So tear escaped from the corner of his eye,
Which he brushed away rapidly,
He would not cry.
There was silence from the office,
Footsteps were heard,
So the artist scribbled one last time:
“Azura, I love you. Will you be mine?”
He stuffed the paper into his pocket -
Concealing his art from sight.
A flash, he was at his chair,
No-one would notice his fright.
For out stepped his tormentor and torturer,
From the depths of an office room.
No, not Mr. Dale,
But Mr. Cole – so cruel.
He glared at Reddon,
“Let’s go” he said,
The smell of alcohol so well disguised;
Under clothes of black and red
So he grabbed his arm,
And the boy flinched hard.
But froze solid as Mr. Dale spoke,
Oblivious to all,
The torture and all.
Mr. Dale warned him for the –enth time.
“Thank you Mr. Cole,” He said so politely,
A smile to mask the 15-year-old’s tears.
“Ignorance is bliss”
So true of this
If he had known he might just understand
Might understand, might understand,
Had he stayed to watch father
Let out a huge hand
The hand caught Reddon on a bruised and battered head.
Dried blood from last night,
So crusted in long, blonde, hair.
He might have yelled down the long and empty corridor,
Had Father not strangled,
Strangled him by the neck.
He breathed a threat,
His breath a monstrous stench.
And dragged his son to the car.
Tears streaming from cheek;
So red from a strike,
But Reddon stayed silent, silent and weak.
For a moment he was safe,
With dad busy behind the wheel.
He cried over parchment and ink,
Letting the pain in his head sink.
In like a knife;
The pain was searing.
His screams so silent,
They were merely whispers.
“I love you” He whispered-
A silent scream.
As pain shot through skull,
As tears blinded eyes.
He thought of his love;
We used to play in fields
Laugh, sing and jump.
What happened to us?
You’re all grown up
I love you still
will you be mine again?”
He cried on parchment,
Drops eating at ink;
Dotting his “i” twice over.
Back into jeans went the piece of white paper;
A message from his heart.
Though the sun shined bright as a normal day would,
The world suddenly went dark.
Unconcious and blind,
Reddon was dragged down stairs.
He awoke with pain,
And tears blinded his vision.
As he stirred,
He could not see. Could not see,
The Cricket bat come down.
Down with a blow,
A blow so painful;
That brought the shattering of his left knee.
He wailed in torment,
Screamed up to the heavens –
Though the only sight was the sole of dad’s boot.
No pain to face.
He fell into slumber,
A slumber of peace.
Light beamed down from the ceiling.
He had awoken, and began reeling -
At the horrendous pain which so tortured his body.
Masked men and women stared down from above.
“we’re fixing your knee” one said at last.
“Had a nasty fall, fell down some stairs”
Said dad, to a man;
with apron and white hair.
“Fell down the stairs, landed hard? You say?”
Enquired the doctor, scribbling away.
“Lies! You have it all wrong!”
But Reddon said nothing, as pain cut him short.
“He’s out of it again!”
Cried one of the men;
Who left his knee to a bandage,
And his head to the bed.
Five days later, he was left to go home.
Reddon Cole, body and soul.
Though his head was better,
And he could walk with a limp.
Bruises still emerged,
Freshly made with each whim.
He sat in his room,
looked up to the ceiling.
Caressed his new swollen wrist.
A moment of ecstasy,
For an idea took hold of the fifteen-year-old boy.
A rose, a rose,
Which Azura so loved.
He would present her with one,
A bright red rose.
Night took hold of the town,
And the city slept in silence.
It seemed only Reddon, kept awake with excitement;
Had the energy to stir;
While he dreamt of her.
He thought of her smile:
So white, so sweet.
He thought of her eyes:
He would give her that rose,
That rose for love,
“I love you.”
But he was awoken by a fist to his chest,
And a “Get up!” – so savage and rough.
Whatever wake-up, of all the wake-ups he had,
This was probably the best.
Left to a drunken lunatic,
Who lost a wife.
Reddon’s father, too was sad.
But a simple boy, a boy of sixteen;
should not be driven mad.
He cried a tear,
Slipped on his jeans.
And walked downstairs to breakfast.
The wooden floor,
Creaked as he walked.
“What’s for breakfast?” He dared not ask.
Instead he ate,
Away at plain bread.
For his mission called him to life:
That rose is yours.
As my heart is yours for life.”
His father belched loudly from the living room,
Beer in hand and sat on a stool.
The television blaring nonsense and folley,
“Get out or I’ll kill you!” he yelled finally.
So Reddon ran with haste;
Parchment in pocket
And coin in hand.
To the local florist – Mr. Bertrand
Mr. Bertrand so gave him a rose,
At the cost of two pounds and a sixty.
Reddon smiled happily,
“Thank you,” he said.
And sped off;
Good thoughts for once filling his head.
“Azura, I have something for you.”
Arms shaking under the excitement.
And when alone,
With much trembling and fear,
He handed her her present.
The rose was blood red,
Beautiful and healthy.
And she smiled a beautiful smile.
And without a word,
Her puckered lips,
Leaned in for a sweet kiss.
As her lips brushed at his cheek,
He could not stop a tear.
But just as he was prepared to speak,
The bell rang, and she was gone.
Parchment in hand, Reddon walked to his seat.
“Later, later, later” he thought,
For after school, should they meet,
He would tell her, once and for all.
He waited and waited for the moment to come,
For the beautiful Azura to show.
He stood at the crossing on Helm’s street,
Just where she told him to go.
Cars hummed past,
Noisily as usual.
As the end of working hours sent people on their way.
Reddon stood at the crossing alone,
In the rain.
In the cold.
Sure enough, there she was;
His sweetheart Azura,
Approaching him slowly.
Here she was,
If only he had told her sooner.
His heart fluttered,
From the distance there came a loud racket.
As sirens wailed,
And engines roared.
Closer and closer they came,
The two four-by-fours.
At ridiculous speed they approached the crossing,
Azura smiled at Reddon.
She stepped onto road at once.
Was there something she was missing?
With cars approaching, engines roaring.
Reddon was on his feet.
Not once did the cars slow,
Instead they came soaring.
As rain poured down on him,
He was up and running.
Azura had frozen,
As she saw the beasts that raced towards her.
In the middle of the road her fate was chosen,
To die amidst a mesh of steel and chrome.
Reddon ran, ran to his love.
And with great force threw her aside.
Only to face the sound of crunching metal,
That flung him – broken – to die.
The two cars collided in a magnificent chaos,
Leaving behind the notorious Mr. Cole
Broken through flesh and bone.
It was mayhem.
But at his side,
So sweet and kind.
Was beauty – Azura Green.
She took his hand and cried and cried,
Her tears screamed down his chest.
He was still alive, but only just, and she was horrified.
She screamed and wailed at the death of her saviour,
As an explosion erupted from behind.
But even as the wreckage burned,
He handed her a note, and died.
And from that note she read the words
That to this day still make her cry:
“Azura, I love you
Will you be mine?”