As Keith Webster thrust his spade into the heavy clay soil in his garden he focused on the sound it made. He could hear his spades incision, the parting of the soil and the sound of small stones being clipped by his spade. Quietly, from within, he took satisfaction from hearing these noises. They helped him imagine what it might be like to kill. He imagined himself lunging forward with a knife, piercing somebody skin. But there were questions to be answered. How much force would it take? Should he twist the knife? Would there be much blood? Would he be able to kill or would his victim live to identify him? At that moment though, the details didnít really matter, this was just a fantasy he needed. He needed it because he felt he had been wronged. He had been accused of indecent behaviour at the school where he worked. This killing fantasy helped him vent his anger and, should he ever carried it out, would made someone pay for that wrong accusation.

Again and again he thrust his spade into the soil until he was racked with pain from the sheer effort of digging. Using his spade as a prop he rested himself for a minute or two. Licking his dry lips in an effort to revitalize them he felt ghastly. Never before in all his life had he experienced such a wretched, vile feeling. His whole face ached, not just his jaw but his teeth too. The sunlight made his eyes squint and he cringed painfully; his head throbbing as his pounding heart pushed blood around his body at double-quick time. Gasping down the fresh air that his body craved for, only made him cough and splutter, catching his already dry throat.

Just then he looked up. George, a good friend of his, was standing just the other side of the fence. Gorge looked concerned as he tried to manoeuvre his thoughts so as to try and comfort his friend without taking sides, without becoming too involved in the whole sordid matter. 'Careful Keith,' he began, 'men of our age are apt to suffer heart attacks through sudden vigorous exercise'. George waited for a reply but nothing came. 'Slow and steady to start with; then your efforts will be rewarded; you wait and see. With a bit of patience it'll all come right.'

Keith, appreciating George's tactful approach replied 'Maybe, maybe, but some things can never be fixed, or at least not properly.'

With a large sigh George said; 'That's a sad fact of life alright, but what's that they say - some people instinctively know what's right'. By the silence that followed George took it that Keith was in no mood for much of a conversation and excused himself.

George's words, to some extent, brought Keith back to his senses, back to reality. Deep down he knew that his thoughts and wishes would never materialize. In reality he was a caring, hardworking, respected member of society. Everybody would see that soon. There would be no need to hurt or kill anybody. Killing was just a stupid fantasy allowing him to vent these pent-up feelings. All this would be over soon, finished with, and everything would be back to normal.

Exactly what Keith was being accused of was sketchy to say the least. One morning in the school where he worked the parents of a pupil insisted on seeing the headmistress. Apparently the mother had overheard her daughter talking with another girl about what the two of them had been doing with Mr.Webster. When questioned they insisted that they were telling the truth, but there wasn't any way of verifying their statement. In order to protect the two girls involved, the headmistress hadn't given out full details of what had happened. The only people who knew the exact details were the two girls, their parents and, to a point, the headmistress. Everybody else, including Keith, only knew that there had been accusations made against him. He insisted that the girls must have been fantasizing because nothing improper had taken place. Neither he, nor the girls, had any proof as to who was right.

Keith feared that all these females; the two girls, the mother who overheard them talking and the headmistress would find it easier to use him as their scapegoat rather than cause an even more damaging disruption.