On my journey far from my home constellations,
Little whisperings of a rumoured happy place are spoken-
Dreams of a certain utopia in my head as I turn to the plane window:

Barrages of characters from every stretch of the world!
Lands filled with picturesque scenes of everlasting fields!
Issues pertained, yes, but less significant and more distracted from.
Good Ol' Blighty, that's what I will call it.
Hysteric laughter, resolute hopes of a rose-tinted future.
"Tea and crumpets anyone?" the beaming flight-attendant interjects;
Yes, that could be my happy place.

Be it the rolling green hills of the Scottish moors,
Rain pattering down on roofs and doors,
I for one love this little nation,
The food so unique, to the old train stations.
And you might say my nation is archaic,
Norman castles to be found, and Roman mosaics.
Never, however, has a country so small been so big,
In the future you may go, far back in the past you may dig,
A unique sight, experience, feeling, is never far away.

The figure bounded towards Dr Black.
Muffled his mouth with the might of his hand.
His vision had clammed with the cloudy emotion of resent.
“Struggle more. I always like to watch my subjects squirm”
A male voice.
The lights of the room gloomed into a distant blear:
Black and blind.

Depletion and dying.
Dr Black sunk his teeth into the attacker’s finger:
A final act of resistance?
A mark of resilience?
A desperate attempt to shake off the perpetrator?
Expletives were expelled, and blood poured out
As the attacker revealed a length of rope.
He tied it around the doctor’s head.
Until the lifeless body slumped to the floor.
Dead.

"This room belongs to the opulent.
Mirrors line the walls to glass their reflection.
Vanity, and self-absorption compliment -
reiterating their shared perfection."

“It’s quite a thing of beauty, isn’t it?” the inspector noted.
“It’s really a shame we have to visit under the circumstance”
He continued: the witness statements he quoted.
"Isn’t it strange how none of you mentioned this room of romance?"

"Surely one of you saw something here?"
Miss Scarlett could not hold back:
“Why sir, it is true. Something I did overhear.
Mrs Peacock and the victim, Dr Black.”

“They were having a clandestine affair.
It seemed to be some sort of debate.”
The inspector hushed Mrs Peacock with a spectral stare;
"Save the rebuttals for the next room; don’t misappropriate."

Crimson blood and rosy cheeks veneering every surface.
The glass panes smattered with evidence.
The party were aghast and wordless;
Shattered fragments of glass lay credulous.

Mrs Peacock burst into tears as the inspector proclaimed:
“Your hair was found during routine swabs”;
He flicked his gloved finger at the blamed
As the shrieks of the room muffled her sobs.

“Yes, strands of your hair, found in the blood”
The inspector continued, roused by the tears and their connotations.
“Very suspicious indeed - renders your excusal a dud;
Perhaps this provides insight to your shared relations?”

He cast his sights to the rest of the crowd;
“Don’t rest on your laurels yet - there’s a lot more to find”
Sheepish thoughts of passive retaliation endowed;
“Keep up - the murderer is still at large. Don’t lag behind"

"The lounge is in an orderly state, as you can see.
But I can assure you, it wasn’t when we found it.
Filled to the rafters with bodily debris;
Perhaps one of you can offer some sort of tidbit?"

Professor Plum, the oldest of the group, stirred.
He was then vehemently shushed by the Colonel.
A secret pact between players inferred -
Their lies would breed upon each other; nearing infernal.

"Mrs Peacock’s hair was not the only substance of concern;
Can anyone have a guess what was discovered just there?”
Mrs White begged for the opportunity to adjourn...
“A locket encrypting Mrs White and Dr Black’s affair.”

Mrs Peacock was aghast; throwing slurs in the direction of the maid.
“Oh but that’s not all” the inspector blustered...
“In the leftmost corner of the room; a bloody revolver was laid.
With your fingerprints on it … Colonel Mustard"

Colonel Mustard tried frightfully to clear his damned name:
“That was my hunting revolver!” he explained.
The inspector humoured him with questions of game;
Swallowing his excuses; the accusations bloodstained.

The inspector was as forthright as ever with his queries
“What do you notice as missing?”
Mrs White immediately answered his theories:
“Why, it is the candlestick” she replied with willing.

Suspicions flared as the party took note of her quick response.
“A candlestick indeed, Mrs White” the inspector gleaned.
“I would say that this object furthers the investigation's ensconce.
You would know a lot about that, wouldn’t you Mr Green?”

“Aye, it is true” was all that he could exhale.
“But, I only took it on the whim of Mrs Peacock:
She told me to take it; I was being blackmailed,
for she knew of my stealing from the Doc.”

Mrs Peacock was upset as ever, complaining of the ill humour.
“I did take the candlestick, but I’m being framed - can’t you see?
I wanted to hit Miss Scarlett with it for spreading the rumour;
But I didn’t ever do it, sir - don’t blame it on me."

The Inspector nodded and turned to his notebook.
He then brandished a blood-soaked dagger from his pocket.
“Does anyone recognise this? It was found by the cook.
It pertains the same inscription as Mrs White’s locket."

Mrs White swore on her life that she had never seen it before;
Professor Plum gulped, and was about to inform,
Before the Colonel stepped on his toe and swore.
Everyone’s attitudes were becoming lukewarm.

“What’s very interesting, is that Mrs White’s prints aren’t professed -
it’s Mrs Peacock we should worry about once more.
The difference here is, that the blood was fresh enough to test...
and it was a match. Did you kill Dr Black therefore?”

The journey through the next three rooms became a stagger.
All of the suspects interrogated the woman with vigour:
“Did you kill him with the candlestick? Or the dagger?
Or was it you who pulled the trigger?"

“My friends, I must confess. If it were that simple, I would know.
The quandary I am faced with, was that Dr Black was suffocated.
Hit over the head with an implement, and strangled with rope.”
The other suspects looked at each other, their accusations deflated.

Professor Plum finally spoke up; “I know what happened.”
The others urged him to continue, annoyed by his lack of intent.
“Dr Black tried to kill me; the motive, he’d imagined.
He thought I was the one taking his belongings without consent.

“I hit him over the head in self defence. Yes, defence - I promise.
It was with a lead pipe. He fell to the floor - I thought he was dead.
I went to go tell Mr Green and the Colonel, his accomplice.
His body had gone, but his voice remained in my head.”

“But if you say he was suffocated to death - it mustn’t have been me…
Oh god, I didn’t kill him.” Plum’s tight grimace was put to rest.
“My friends, I’m afraid this is our last room - and so this is my final plea,
Who do you think killed Dr Black? Take a guess.”

Miss Scarlett stuck with Mrs Peacock, as did Mrs White.
Convinced by the evidence of her hair, and DNA.
Mrs Peacock thought Miss Scarlett engaged in the fight;
perhaps her permanent passing of blame was to lead them astray?

The Professor and Colonel suspected Mr Green;
Perhaps the revelation of his crime had spurred the feeling -
He was said to be carrying a spanner to the scene,
After the news of Dr Black knowing of the stealing.

Mr Green didn’t know who to pass the blame to.
He was just as clueless as I.
Have you found evidence, or the clue,
As to who committed the crime?

I was writing it with the inspector himself being the killer in my mind - the clue was that when Dr Black bit his finger, blood poured out of the cut and so he was forced to wear gloves in order to hide the evidence (a deep, lasting bite-mark): "he flicked his gloved finger at the blamed". But then again, I left it quite open ended so you could make up your own mind as you read - if you dislike the idea of the inspector doing it, I'm going to side with Colonel Mustard being to blame - his bloody revolver suggests though it wasn't used, it was at the scene of the crime - and he was Mr Green's accomplice in the stealing (I don't think it's Mr Green - that would be too obvious).

Through the canopy the parrots flew,
The sky through the trees was a shining blue,
Cicadas chirped beyond our sight,
The flowers were glowing in the dwindling light.

Then the peace was shattered,
As quick as a flash we all scattered,
I was too slow; a net appeared over my head,
The only feeling I could muster was dread.

They forced me into a rusty cage,
As it rocked around I fell into a rage,
I screamed and hollered, but to no avail,
Beyond the bars, we had reached the end of the dusty trail.

I was thrown into a dark and noisy room,
The engines roared, I coughed from the fumes,
Other creatures screamed around me,
I tore at the bars, but I could not flee.

The shaking stopped, and I could see out of the hatch,
But immediately my cage was snatched,
I was brought outside, the air was cold,
The ugly surroundings were a sight to behold.

I travelled for a while, scared out of my mind,
I heard the sound of engines humming behind,
Then we came to a sudden stop,
I felt my shattered heart drop.

I was being carried to a silver gate,
I had no idea about my future or my fate,
The human opened the door, and I heard the screams,
Yells I didn't hear in my worst dreams.

I was thrown into a dull, damp pen,
I saw my fellows being taken by the men,
On the same day I arrived, it was my turn,
They cut me, doused me with chemicals that made me burn.

It didn't stop at one time, however,
It seemed like my pain would go on forever,
I spent years and years in this torturous hellhole,
They attacked my body, my mind, my soul.

One final day, I had finally had enough,
The years of pain and torture had made me remorseless and tough,
When they came to get me, I lashed out with a fist,
This horror was not how I wanted to exist.

I ran for my life, dodging knives and hands,
I acted on impulse, I had no plans,
But then I decided to stand my ground,
I leapt on a human and brought them down.

I ripped with my fingers and bit with my teeth,
He screamed and struggled from beneath,
I then left, leaving him a lifeless mess,
I was the ape they would no longer oppress.

I ran for the door, and cast it aside,
The humans stayed, back, afraid of the change of tides,
I burst out into the black night,
My heart pounding, my eyes bright.

One day I will return to the house of death,
Free those who are struggling for breath,
So they can see the forests, the stars,
So they can see the blue sky beyond the bars.

He was born up north, in the hinterlands
Far into the cold, where the tall trees stand
But then the wind brought the lightning
Apparently losing your parents can be frightening

Drifting at the age of six, he went south and found a home
What he called a dad was a drunk, who bruised him to the bone
Staying ‘til the age of eight, he was out on the road
All that he wanted, nay, that he needed, was an abode

By the time he found a home, he was twenty-five
His new neighbors were full of bluster, and of jive
They didn’t understand his life before moving in
Now the people he wanted drive him crazy with their din

He didn’t last a year living there, little wonder
Regardless of intent, he hated insensitive blunders
He tried three more homes in neighborhoods
Each time, he was thrown out for good.

But then one day, he saw a girl, the tear in his heart
After spending a few months, she tore him apart
All he wanted was happiness, but all he got was despair
His life was terrible, and his dreams were beginning to tear

But when war broke out, he got an idea for biding his time
Instead of looking for boredom and losing his mind
He’d enlist to fight the hordes of outlawing bands
They suited him up, with a helmet and sword in hand

The commanders put him into a platoon
Little did they know all would be doomed
They had a camaraderie that one would wish for
Made the years pass faster for the chaps in the war

He enjoyed his time with the men in his troop
But his regiment was sent to another group
A larger army was being raised to fight
Most of them wouldn’t last two more nights.

His platoon was called forward to the conflict
His regiment was lucky enough to be picked
Marching towards the enemy, he thought to himself
“I’m going to retire, this is terrible to my health.”

The two sides charged, and death was dealt
Or, in his case, injury was more aptly felt.
He was about to retire, when an arrow hit,
Now he has a hole that an arrow perfectly fits.

He was “sent home”, without a home to be sent to
Limping out of the ranks, without anything to do
Finding a tower on the site of the road, he moved in
But the quietness of loneliness was deafening with din.

For weeks he convalesced, pondering his friendships
He thought that once his army buddies were through hardships
They’d forget about him, and leave on to their homes
The sadness he gave himself sunk deep into his bones.

But, after months of limping and sorry thoughts
His convalescence, with tears, was sorely bought
Now, he felt ready to move on with his life
In his new home, he was putting behind all his strife

But the war wasn’t over, as he soon learned
Brigands came roving, and for his house they yearned
They knocked on his door, calling him out
The outlaw’s commander asked him for a bout

Insecure as he was, with his long, long past
He was tempted to leave, to run really fast
He felt a tear in his soul over the outlaw band
He had a hundred swords in his heart, and one in his hand

He ran through the door, screaming like Hell
The brigands stood before him and fell
“This is my home, get out of here!” he screamed
But with the puff of muskets, he fell and he dreamed.

When he awoke, his couch was covered in red
He thought to himself, “am I really dead?”
He was surrounded by his old army platoon
It turns out that none of them, except him, were doomed.

A man who had, for so long, looked for a home
Finally found one, and now he’d leave it without a moan
Surrounded by friends that he dreamed of for years
In a home he had fought for, now he’d die without tears.

Fragments of calm exhorted, the white-wash depiction of a blank slate;
Your body enters the doors of the asylum, your mind lagging a little late.

Camouflaged, stealthy and unsuspecting: the colour black shrouds all.
Well, unless you're in the asylum. In which case, it's your downfall.

The creeping shadows enveloped my soul,
The gloom surrounded my vision, dark as night, black as coal.

Then radiant white filled the air,
The darkness now gone, the light was a beaming flare.

Colour-contact; reagents react the siren's spark that heralds hark the light.
Spiritual sanctum; temperatures tantrum whilst peace prevails, universe unveiled by sight.

Colours' contrast; forces fast to sentient sleep by disparate deep soundtracks.
Absolute absence; mute malevolence through creators' clarity, a grieving gravity abstract.

Black and red, fire and death, are all that is planned,
You think it's the easy way, but black is the color of the damned.

White is the rising, setting, and living of the bright morning sun,
How can all our wrongs be unwritten? This is how all our sins can be undone.