The Snapper Lady

(This is a fairly faithful record of a chronological dream I had. Most dreams are abstract snapshots of one's life. John is a character I knew and feared, most certainly psychopathic. The last I heard of him he'd been banned from every pub in Kentish Town for violence. He's probably in prison now. I also write his dialogue down as he spoke it - he didn't say 'I think' he said 'Oi tink'. I know this annoys some critics and would like feedback on this. Is it enough to say he was a Dubliner and leave it at that, let the reader make up their own accent in their heads?)

John was the kind of guy who'd push a beer glass in your face for catching his eye. He was just like that. Especially if he'd had a skin full.
John liked his skin full.
He'd been like that since he was a kid he was always getting into trouble, he even attacked the teachers at school if they upset him. He didn't go to school much for one reason or another. The teachers didn't mind.
John just liked the sound that glass made when it splintered into someone's face; well to be truthful he liked the sound his victim made when glass cut into skin, tissue and bone. It was better than sex, better than the sex John had grown up with anyway. He didn't know it was called sex even, it was just what your dad does to you, with your mam's silent collusion.
He particularly wanted to hurt his father for using him the way he did - he'd known it was wrong but his tether was too big and he couldn't tell anyone for fear that his father found out and hurt him really badly. He also felt it was wimpish to complain it's only those poofy posh kids who go around complaining, you've got to learn to take things - he did. In every way. He tried to turn him down once and he couldn't go outside for a week. He wished mam hadn't gone, bloody useless cow.
It got worse when she left, his dad said 'she's run off with the milkman ha ha!'. He wanted to kill his father then but he was too small - but he grew and his father got a little too bloated with drink and when John was sixteen his father gave him a clip around the ear too tar. John got a pick - axe handle and gave his old pop such a battering that it's surprising that his father wasn't killed. He was hospitalised for a good while and John was taken into care - the local community tut - tutted.

He didn't tell anyone of course, they'd always known that he was a wrong 'un from the start - 'and his poor father having to struggle to keep him clothed and fed. Not easy f or a man when a woman leaves, especially when she's a mother, bloody slattern!' There were rumours that. she was in Dublin working the streets, met some very shady characters and ended up in the Liffey.
John eventually left the young offenders institution with little hope of a ,job, he had no skills and fewer aspirations, He became involved in petty crime, signed on the dole under different names that kind of thing, he even worked on the buildings for a while. But his heavy drinking tended to mitigate against his having to work for a living and it was beginning to get him into trouble. Several years and a few spells inside for G.B.H. under his belt he ended up in England where he felt he might lose himself, only to find himself in Cricklewood with a hangover from Lucifer and a woman that had taken third prize at Crufts.
John couldn't stand the pain anymore and someone mentioned that maybe he'd got a drink problem, so he washed up in A.A. and from there to a treatment centre being cosseted by fawning, earnest Social Workers, There was one-Maureen- who took more than a passing interest and they ended up in bed together. It turned out that Maureen had suffered abuse as a child, not quite of the same intensity, but abuse just the same.
The die was set
They began living together and with Maureen's encouragement John began studying basic reading and writing skills at night school. Unfortunately the class tended to repair to the pub afterwards and John wanting to be part of things joined in. He didn't stay on orange juice for long as he felt very uncomfortable and he was soon into the beer, someone said something wrong and he nutted them, End of academia.
He went home in a foul mood and half cut with a bottle of whiskey, Maureen patronisingly tried to placate him so he slapped her. She reeled back shocked, with her hand to her face. It was then that she told him she was pregnant. He went out into the night. He came back a few days later with sunken eyes, designer stubble and guilt etched into his face. His money had obviously run out.
"You fucking bastard where've you been, who've you been with?! screamed Maureen, "Jayz Mo oi can't remember, but oi haven't been with any bleedin' woman, oi've been over at Mick's place. "If you can't remember how do you know? Her eyes bored right through him, "Oh don't lets start John said trying to look as sheepish as he could, he was raging deep down and felt that she had no right to question him but she held all the cards. He felt his anger rising. "Don't start, don't start what? Sorting out your drinking, is that what we mustn't start? Maureen was becoming shrill, he put his arms around her and whispered "0i love you, we can sort this out. She relented, their relationship took on this pattern and became impacted, her work colleagues knew that something was wrong but Maureen felt that there was a good man there and she was damn well going to see it emerge. She didn't realise that by focusing on John she was just avoiding her own past.
She'd rather die than do that.

A son was born but Johns' behaviour or drinking was not mollified by this, In fact it seemed to worsen, Maureen realised that she would have to keep working but knew that she couldn't leave her son with John, so she found a baby minder and returned to work. She was eventually called into a meeting by her superiors who felt that she was 'under duress' and did she want to talk about it. She broke down and told them everything and with their help realised that to protect her own son she would have to remove John from her life.
It didn't prove easy, the police became involved and then the courts and a court order was invoked, He pleaded to be let back in her life and promised he'd get help and it was under this plea bargaining that she agreed to meet him one last time. They met on neutral ground in a pub.
"Look Mo, oi know you don't believe me, but I'll kick dis, oi'l knock it on the head, "I can't take this anymore Maureen said, "and I have to think of my son and you've got to stop thinking about knocking and kicking things on the head.
"Oh don't get smart wit' me ye fuckin' upper class whore John suddenly spat out. The vehemence of his reaction confirmed Maureen's worst fears. "Look John I can't help you, I've done my best but I'm getting in your way from making a proper recovery.
This seemed to nonpluss John, "You're gettin' in moy way? Oi thought it was the other way round! Maureen got up to leave, "dat's roit ya bitch, will ye fuck awf The other people in the pub turned to stare at the commotion. The landlord and landlady also looked over, recognising potential trouble. Maureen quickly made her exit. John shouted at the customers and no one in particular "What the fuck ya starin' at?.
They all quickly turned away, like a child's balloon deflating. John sat there brooding, staring into his beer; he went up to the bar to get another one. The landlady who was heavily pregnant served him, "Everything o.k.? she asked trying to be jocular. "What the fuck's it to you? John snapped back, "Oh I'm sorry, we don't want any trouble said the landlady. "Trouble? Trouble? Do you see any trouble?
John stared hard at her with his palms uppermost in a mock sign of contrition, "Do you see any trouble? Do you see any trouble? Do you see any trouble?.
Each time he said it there was a slightly different inflection but always full of controlled malice. John paid for his drink and went to sit down, the landlord just toyed with his baseball bat under the counter.
John decided to play the fruit machine just to take his mind off things. He began pumping money into the slot; he won a little but lost a lot. He began slapping the machine and talking about the 'robbing fuckin' English', he put his last coin in and lost it, he then attempted a sort of a Kung Fu kick against the front of the machine, he connected then collapsed in a heap on the floor. The landlord came around the bar and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck to haul him up. John leapt up and chinned him, he was about to kick him when the landlady brought the baseball bat down on his head as hard as she could. He fell to the ground clutching his head and screaming, she was about to hit him again but he saw her in time and rolled over out of the way, jumped up and out of the pub.

"The fuckin' bitch, that fuckin' snapper lady fuckin' hit me, oi'll kill the cuntin' bitch, oi'll fuckin' kill hor. He said it again and again, he was holding his head and felt the stickiness of the blood trickle from the wound through his fingers, his head hurt like hell. He'd went to ground in a garden shed next door to the pub and planned his next move, When his head had cleared a little he decided he was going back into the pub, he was dying for a drink and desperate for money, both commodities readily available inside, He fumbled around and found a garden fork as a weapon and waited for the pub to close.

A few hours later the pub was in darkness, John began jemmying a ground floor window with the fork. He was inside in the darkness - one thing he feared was a dog, but they didn't appear to keep one. He crept around the bar, found a can of beer, opened it as quietly as he could and drank. He opened another one and did the same. He moved to the till and opened that as quietly as he could and bingo! They'd left all the takings for the evening in it. He began stuffing his pockets with the notes when all of a sudden the lights went on. He just managed to avoid the arc of the baseball bat but it caught him a glancing blow on the side of the head, he leapt to his feet in a rage. The fork was in his hand and he lunged forward bayonet style and the landlord squealed like a stuck pig as the fork pierced his dressing gown and his heart, He pulled the fork out and watched him crumple to the floor like a man with his spine removed. He spun around at the sound of a click behind him and stared at the twin barrels of a shotgun held by the landlady. She was frantically fiddling with the mechanism as John lunged forward again straight into her fat balloon of a belly and watched it explode. She kind of whimpered as she looked into the hatred that was this man as she tried to protect herself and her dead child. The fork was jabbed into her in a now complete frenzy of lust and hate, she looked as if she was dissolving in a sea of blood and water.
She died with her hands around what was once her stomach and baby. You fuckin' cunt of a bitch, you were goin' to kill me were ya'? eh? eh? John stood over her spitting his question at her. You fuckin' cunt' ya. "With that he raised the fork right over his head and straight through her head, pinning it to the floor. John opened a bottle of whiskey for now he was King and no one dare tell him what to do. Christ I'm covered in blood, I'll have to get out of these clothes he thought. He went upstairs, found a bedroom and sorted out some clothes that fitted, he couldn't get into the dead mans shoes though. He went downstairs turned off all the lights then out of their lives for ever. He made his way over by taxi to Maureen's place and rang her bell again and again until she answered. He pleaded and pleaded but she refused saying he sounded drunk, he then started kicking the door and shouting at the top of his voice. Windows were opened. She had to relent so she let him in. He flopped down at the kitchen table muttering, "oi did it, oi fucking did it, he poured whiskey into a cup and Maureen felt a mixture of contempt and anger at herself for allowing herself to be bamboozled into letting this man into her life. "What have you done now? I want you out of my life Maureen gritted through her teeth.
"Get rid of me? You're never going to be rid of me, oi'm with you for life. Oi killed that fuckin' snapper lady and her old man, try to fuckin' hit me would they! the fuckin' bastards.
"What do you mean you killed them?! Maureen said not really comprehending what she was hearing and not wanting to.
"Oi did the pair of 'em the cunts, they came at me with baseball bats and shotguns - but oi did 'em! he shouted, banging his head hard on the table.
She still didn't want to believe what she was hearing but at that moment she noticed the blood on his shoes and his blood speckled hair. She reeled back in horror. She stumbled into the toilet and vomited until she almost tore out the inside of her stomach through her nostrils. She stood staring at herself in the mirror for ages until she knew what she must do. She walked calmly into the kitchen and got a kitchen knife and went into the living room where John's head was still on the table as he clutched the whiskey bottle muttering 'oi did 'em, oi fuckin' did 'em'. She raised the knife high over her head and plunged it into his neck so hard she severed his spinal column and skewered him to the table. He kind of squealed and gurgled like a stuck pig until his blood life ebbed finally onto the floor.
She was freed by the courts but it was recommended that she sought therapeutic help for her problems. There was the usual outcry from the press about the leniency of the courts and a charter for women to kill, and she went to ground.
Maureen worked hard in her therapy and began to extrude all the emotional puss that had lain inside her all those years. She couldn't continue to work, look after her son and work on her emotional well being at the same time. Her son was to prove difficult at school, she began to get reports that he could be charming one moment and then attack a fellow pupil the next. And this was not just the usual skirmishing that one gets between boys trying to establish some sort of pecking order, in the words of one teacher 'He was like some wild animal'.
He began to terrorise her at home too and she had to withdraw him from school, he was sent to a special school where they found him unteachable.
Maureen became increasingly withdrawn and chronically depressed, she left her therapy where she felt she'd reached some sort of hiatus. Her son was showing all the signs of being disturbed; just like his father she thought. It was around this time that the old Jesuitical phrase of 'Give me a child to the age of seven and I'll show you the man' began to resonate with her. She realised that she had brought a monster into the world and she knew what she had to do.
She got some sleeping pills from the doctor and one Saturday morning told her son that they were going on a trip to a theme park. She gave him two of the sleeping pills saying that they would prevent car sickness and set off. She stopped in a remote spot and attached the hose that she'd bought to the exhaust of the car.
She cradled her son's head in her lap while technology did it's job.