A Bitter Sweet Life

The Beginning



The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any characters real, or previously existing is purely coincidence and is not meant to reflect in anyway, their feelings, actions or otherwise. This story contains vivid descriptions of unprotected and protected sexual acts between consenting individuals and minors, but does not in any way intend to condone such behaviour; paedophilia is a crime for those of you who are unaware. If such material is illegal in your area, discontinue reading immediately. I will not be held liable for any problems or criminal convictions you may encounter. If you do engage in sexual intercourse with strangers, always use a condom, AIDS is a reality. Other than that, this story is protected by copyright laws, and any redistribution, copying or citing with the intent of passing it off as your own work, with the exception of nifty.org, without the express written permission of the author is strictly prohibited.


Geez, I apologise for such a brutal disclaimer guys, but it is necessary to protect myself and my work. Anyway enjoy the story and if you have any comments (not about the disclaimer!!!) please send them to:






The Bundu


Chapter 5

From the last chapter:

"Shall we go inside?" Helen called out to us. Her voice was filled with trepidation, even though she tried to hide it. I sympathised with her. Having to go back inside the house was tough. Although I am sure the police had the house cleaned by now, they could never wipe away the memories that hung over the house like a shroud.


As she turned the key for us to get inside, I could sense the tension in the air. It made it almost impossible to breathe. I think at this point everyone half-expected Danny to come bounding through the door and this nightmare would end. But their more sensible half told them this was not possible. Daniel was dead and nothing could bring him back, not even hope. I wondered where they had taken his body. I suppose they would want to do an autopsy to ascertain that he really did kill himself. This must have been killing Helen, the thought of her son lying on some pathologist's cold table, his body being desecrated. I quickly pushed those thoughts out of my mind as I heard the door swing open. Everyone sort of leaned back, as if expecting to be hit by a stench of some sort. Instead we were greeted by a very light flowery scent. My suspicions were confirmed, the police had already cleaned the house.


Henry was the first to start moving into the house. He moved slowly as if he was resisting some force that was pushing him. Everyone followed behind, each not very keen to walk into the dark house. Helen flicked the lights on and everyone jumped a little. Slowly we made our way to the sitting room. What we saw stopped us dead in our tracks.


In every available space, everywhere, there were flowers and. The scent that had greeted us at the door now had a source. Helen broke down, and started crying. There were no tears in her eyes, she had been crying all night, and she was all cried out. I picked up a card on the table and looked at it. It had a picture of a waterfall on the cover, with the words With Deepest Sympathy embroidered at the top. I opened it and read it:


To Helen and family

I am terribly sorry to hear of the loss of your son, we have not talked much, but it hurts to have Danny end his life so suddenly. If you need anything you know where to find me. I will drop by tomorrow afternoon during lunch.




PS. Take all the time you need from work, I'll get someone to fill in for you.


I handed the card to Helen, who read it quietly to herself. She smiled slightly at the thought that her boss cared that much for her. Then there was silence, it felt very awkward. John was the first to make a move; he moved the flowers from the seat gently placing them on the floor as if they were pieces of fragile china. He sat down and soon everyone soon followed suit, with Henry taking his place next to his boyfriend. Helen and I took positions on either side of Mike.


"So, what happened?" John asked. Helen looked at him the color draining from her face. She had known this question was going to be asked eventually, but she was not ready for it. She stumbled in her speech a little before she finally got started. John looked at her, making no judgment as she explained how she had walked in on her sons, and later how she went upstairs to make peace, only to find that she was too late.


His gaze moved from his wife, to his son, whose tears were streaming down his face. He did not say anything, he stood up from his seat, everyone giving him a quizzical look, walked over to where Michael was sitting, and gave him the most loving embrace I had ever seen in my life. He did not cry, but held on to his son, not wanting to let him go. After what seemed an eternity, he let go of Mike, and planted a very light kiss on his forehead. He stood up and reached his hand out to Helen, she took it and he led her upstairs. What they talked about no one ever found out, but when they came downstairs, they both had tears in their eyes but they were smiling. Soon after that, John and Henry left, leaving only the three of us in the house.

"We did not even have that tea." Helen laughed weakly.


I somehow knew that after all this; things were going to get better. I kissed the top of Mike's head lightly, and drew him into an embrace which Helen soon joined. We all took one last look around the house, and the flowers strewn all over the living room. I knew this would be the last time we would be in the house all together like that, and after this, we would all move on with our lives. Even though there was still the funeral to be taken care of, it would not be as sad as it seemed...

There's chapter five and the end of book 1. I am sorry for the delay, it's been a hectic time for me, I had some personal problems. Anyway I will start work on A Bitter Sweet Life II: Life Goes On. It's promising to be very interesting. Please send comments/suggestions to pragmaticstories@yahoo.co.uk .  I will get to work on book 2 shortly.


The Bundu