To be honest, I could not finish reading this story as it did hit too many nerves and issues that is rampant in society today, at the behest of a movement that is determined to ensure that every man, anytime, can be destroyed and obliterated by precisely what happened here. That movement is active today and will ensure that every opportunity is taken to ensure that men's lives are destroyed and left to wither and die.
Alone, no assistance, no help, no guidance available and everyone associated to that abuse industry is quite aware that this is going on and no one gives a damn, including politicians, law enforcement, the judiciary and all those other groups who claim to be for humanity and claim to be there to help, one and all, as they just disappear into the woodwork and claim either ignorance, feign interest or demonstrate total bias..
This is what feminists have created and it's this is what we need to face head on and defeat, or you and your sons will be next..
This is why the MRM (Mens Rights Movement) has been forced to exist to exist. This is why we will win..
Just A Man Writing
Chapter Fifteen.
Join me now in the final chapter of this 'almost fictional' tale that is trying to illustrate what a false accusation of rape can do to a man just like YOU. Click here for Chapter one
You awaken the next morning to the sound of the telephone ringing downstairs. You make your way, groggily, to the bedroom door and step out into the passage at the top of the stairs leading down to the living room. You hear your father pick up the ringing 'phone and answer it. You had a rough night. Nightmares forced you awake several times and the sleep you did get was shallow and wakeful. As usual, when you woke this morning your sheets were wet with sweat. Grateful that your father was up already and had answered the telephone, you turn back to your room to pull the wet sheets from the bed and replace them with fresh ones, before getting your tired body into the shower.
After your shower you dress quickly and make your way downstairs to the kitchen to make breakfast. You are surprised that your dad is still on the 'phone. His voice is irritated and louder than usual and, as you place the bread in the toaster, you can clearly hear his words coming from the living room.
“I don't care about any of that. You are my member of Parliament who was voted in to take care of the interests of your constituents. My son and I are your constituents and so you have a duty to do everything you can to ensure that our best interests are looked after. What ever the difficulties you may face because of the bureaucratic mess you have to work with is neither here nor there as far as I am concerned. That is what you were elected to deal with. I am simply asking you to do your job. If you are telling me that you are not capable of doing your job I suggest you resign and let someone who is capable take over.”
There is a pause as your father listens to the reply from the MP on the other end of the telephone. When your dad speaks again his irritation has become fury.
“Damn it, you listen to me! This girl told the police that the reason she accused my son of raping her was because she was frightened and feeling guilty after having sex with him. She did not want her boyfriend to find out that she had been unfaithful to him. She was not, however, too frightened and ashamed to accuse an innocent man of rape. Her accusation led to the death of my wife, my own heart attack and my boy being held up to public ridicule and contempt, as well as arrest. He was then attacked and severely injured by a maniac with a baseball bat, infuriated, apparently, by what the local press had written. That attack has forced him to sell his home. His accuser was allowed to remain anonymous but my innocent son had his reputation shredded by the publicity. He has lost his job and cannot face working any more because he now has PTSD and requires long term treatment. I want to know why the police were even able to just caution his accuser and let her go when the man she falsely accused might have been sent to jail for many years had a trial happened. I want to know why these females often get as little as probation in a court of law and I want to know why these accusations against innocent men seem to be treated by our so-called justice system and its judges as a joke! Furthermore, I want to know why our MPs are not as outraged by these things as many members of the public are -- including myself and my son. Now, either you do the job you were elected to do and start asking some hard questions in the Parliament and on the committee you sit on, or I will make it my life’s work to see you are never elected in this county or anywhere else again. Do I make myself clear?”
Your father pauses to hear the reply before slamming the telephone down angrily.
“Snake talk! Nothing but obfuscation, evasion, excuses and vague empty promises. I loath these gutless bastards who sponge off us by doing as little as possible and then only doing what they enjoy.” He cries his anger to the empty living room before leaving it and heading for the kitchen.
As he enters the kitchen he sees that you are up and busy making breakfast. He suddenly looks sheepish. He knows you will be disappointed in him for allowing himself to get worked up and to raise his blood pressure.
“Morning son.” He says, before slumping heavily on a chair at the kitchen table. He looks suddenly tired and is breathing much too quickly. “Sorry if my shouting woke you up. I get carried away with these bastards sometimes.”
You decide to go easy on him.
“Just watch that they don't get you too carried away and have another heart attack. Have you eaten?”
Your dad shakes his head.
“Here. Tuck into this” you say, as you place some whole grain toast, some yoghurt and a large bowl of selected fruit in front of him. He grimaces exaggeratedly at the prospect of his healthy heart breakfast and sniffs the air. Taking in the aroma of your own bacon and eggs gently frying in the pan on the stove. He makes as if he is going to speak, but falls silent instead as you place a single red rose in a tiny vase on the table at your mothers old seating place.
“Morning mum.” You say, simply, before turning away again and going to the stove.
Your dad silently blows a kiss towards the rose and empty chair and then starts to eat his toast.
Link to Just a man writing and the rest of the article..
Link to Just a man writing and the rest of the article..
