Here One Day, Gone The Next

You were taken from this world by a sick man without conscience, who was free to kill for years and years, free to laugh as his comic strip unfolded, all but encouraged by the hapless brigade of blindfolded lawmen.

Your parents’ calls for help were recorded and sold by sick men without conscience, who sold your pain as truth to a nation of luckless sleepers, drugged up to the eyeballs on a crash diet of tabloids.

Your parents’ rights were ridiculed by the guardians of peace, whose sole devotion to sick men with money was bolstered by a lazy desire to uphold a dismembered statue of liberty.

Your parents were thoroughly questioned by the keepers of law, whose skewed allegiance to human rights displayed their own questionable itinerary, that which hides the stench of the wicked with the stock of the innocent, while the whole charade could have been ended by my next door neighbour, a respectable old man of good faith, but that wouldn’t have been good for the economy.

As days turned into years, your loss was reduced to private musing, the law’s glaringly daft errors matched only by the chambered fraud of its superiors, as the brains of drunken strangers were hung out to dry like well-aged cattle, consumed in dirty rags of comical deception.
While intent suffered from inaction, the killer ran free with a hammer up his sleeve, ready to pounce from his clean white van, or a bus stop, to bludgeon and poke his next living body, as the law-keepers busied themselves with over-time accounting for the four minutes it may or may not have taken to drive home a nice enough young man on a blackout.

Year upon year, your image shone out from the rags of the rich, beauty and innocence spattered by the finger-printed sauce and fat of a builder’s breakfast, who would say a prayer, for Milly and Maddy, silent, for fear that his barmy army may think he had a heart, and for gratitude that his own had not suffered the same fate, yet. Only Jordan could claim more front page headlines.

For what must have seemed an eternity, and with shockingly detailed evidence to implicate Bellfield and Maddy’s takers of life from the very first day, the men in blue drew blanks, scratching their heads guiltily, thankful that they had a job at all, suitably sure that the people could never stomach the truth, that progress be damned in the eyes of the law.

As fact became farce, the nation imagined that Milly and Maddy were their own, increasingly wary of strangers who came close for fear of the worst, worried sick, while laws were shouldered through by Harperson to vilify men forced away from their own children, to undergo CRB checks at £300 a pop, for jobs they dared apply for, while school teachers sold ghastly images of their children being touched on the watch of the wise and to the highest bidder.

To quash the madness, your parents prayed and wished for your return, endlessly reverting to tiny shards of fractured memory, possible clues for a good detective to magnify, only to be blamed and shamed for your loss, while every day you were piled high in Smiths, for a while alongside the best-selling ‘Madeleine’, worth millions as an lost orphan and nothing as found, thus printed in hardback for posterity.

And throughout the whole Shakespearian play, the killer’s human rights were respected as lawyers and barristers picked over invisible corpses from past cases to float their best client away from persecution, not to be confused with prosecution, and as his bones were massaged into compliance to their wishes for him, another hoard of cash would be stashed for the wicked to feed from, to build empires of fire from the ashes of the innocent, dragged out by self-seeking lawmen, and the police, and, of course, the government; the very essence of a nation…, and for who if not its own people?

For who do they crouch down before?

A man that hides behind a woman who resembles Joan of Arc but is nothing of the sort, a man who loves to see his own sickness grow in good health, a scientific man in defiance of nature who searches the depths of the human spirit only to weigh the frailty of the powerful and the fragility of the wicked against the failure of the ordinary to seek justice, balanced in his favour so that he can line their pockets to perpetuate the total and utter misery of a nation, a man who makes the fearful angry and the angry fearful, a man who deserves nothing but an deserted island with one fruit tree and a wheelie camera, for crimes to humanity.

But it is not only he who profits from pain.

Oh no, our eminent lawgivers are the ones to blame, yes, blame, for the lies and deceit, for if we cannot trust our lawgivers, what hope do we have of justice?

But we are the fools who are also to blame, every last one of us, because we chose to believe that the law was there for good reason, that it was pertinent to truth, and that we couldn't change it even it wasn't.

For Milly and Maddy, two innocent cherubs; you may just be the closest that we will ever come to experiencing the purity of love. That you are not here only proves that we have failed to protect you. If we were as good and honest as we like to think we are, we would never have bought a newspaper that printed your name, but we did.

I pray that you are both playing together with angels, laughing freely, far away from earthly fears.

I pray for your parents, but for different reasons, and I pray that the lawgivers of the world may see, and act on, the error of their ways, that they will find the strength to be truly human, to fight against the hateful and to guide the everyday people who serve the, who they walk with, on occasion, those who have been forced to fight against each other and themselves in order to feed their own.

I pray that that houses of law and governance will be shown as the corrupt dens of iniquity that they have become, and that the people will judge for themselves what is right and rejoice in their freedom as unshackled prisoners of peace, free to walk and love, to destroy the wishes of the knowingly wicked and to nurture those whose conscience has been hidden from them for so long.

Here one day, gone the next.