Miranda Kate's Blog, page 47
December 28, 2018
Review of A Tale for the Time Being, by Ruth Ozeki
A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth OzekiMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
I read this book for my bookclub, and had initially been dubious that it was a book for me. It is more literary than I would normally choose, and I don't have a particular interest in Japanese culture. But what unfolded was an emotional journey through sensitive topics like bullying and suicide.
The book flicks between two worlds: Nao's and Ruth's. Ruth finds Nao's diary washed up on the beach of the remote island she lives on in British Columbia, Canada and starts to read and translate it. Nao's diary talks about her life in Japan, since moving there from America with her Japanese born parents. Ruth believes the diary has been washed up in the 2011 tsunami and attempts to track down Nao and her family.
It's difficult to talk about this book without giving away the story. It is a slow intense read that reveals various elements of Japanese culture. It tells the story of a teenage girl, Nao, who was raised in America and has been thrust into Japanese life and the difficulties she experiences, as well as the difficulties her parents experience. It is also tells the story of her great grandmother, who is a Buddhist nun, and her great Uncle who was a Kamikaze pilot. And it tells the story of Ruth and her husband, and their life on a remote island.
The tales are interwoven, and no more is given than absolutely necessary. The reader is left to feel their own emotions about the things that are uncovered; the author doesn't provide the reader with a judgement either way, although we do see Ruth and her husband's reaction to some of it, if only to explain more fully what is being described in Nao's stories.
I loved the depth of this book, of the characters and stories and their lives. I also loved other topics which are touched on, like Buddhism and Quantum Physics, and the appendices in the back that give more detailed information on these topics.
View all my reviews
December 26, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 87
This week's photo prompt was taken by Carlos M Almagro, a Tenerife based photographer. This was taken there. He has some incredible pictures on his website, definitely worth checking out. He calls this one Calm and Joy.
I had this story in my head for a while, but I struggled to develop it and not sound like a boring narrative. I hope it's worked.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Released
Sitting here in the little wooden chair, enjoying the sunrise for the first time in decades, I sighed: I was safe. I’d dreamt of this moment and it didn’t disappoint; my mind was my own again.
It hadn’t been easy getting here, a life-long mission, through many lives. Time after time attempts had been made to release me, but each time the demon had remained and gone on to create further pain and misery. But finally the right words and incantations had been found.
I could no longer remember a time before the demon, only when I had first spotted it. I had glanced in a mirror – a luxury item in that lifetime – and I could see it in my eyes: a dark reflection, a dullness that hadn’t be there before, something looking out that wasn’t a part of me. And then the thoughts had started: the paranoia, the thoughts telling me to hurt myself, the urge to hurt others, and the confusion about whether I had or not leading me to self-destruction or reclusion.
It leached onto others and turned them too. A few strong ones had resisted and identified the truth, so I developed a way to shackle my true essence to them and find them in the next life, hoping to harness their abilities to rid me of this thing. It hadn’t worked until now.
It was thanks to Emmie. She had persevered through the last seven lifetimes, edging closer and closer to the solution. She had tried spells and enchantments, sometimes distracting the demon, allowing me to return to myself for a few moments and regain my inner energy. And in those lucid windows she had taught me how to build my strength and increase my protective wall, pushing it out, making it more difficult for the demon to re-engage, even though it ultimately did, until the day her team had found the words.
In this lifetime, Emmie had been born into an academic family, one with a unique interest in alchemy with an extensive library on the practices of the black arts, including how to perform exorcisms. Once we had found one another again, I became her pet project and we went through rigorous tests and experiments trying to unhinge the thing. She brought in an entire team, determined to achieve it this time, each member bringing their own insight to the table.
When an invitation and airline ticket arrived by courier I didn’t hesitate, despite the noise in my head ramping up significantly. But I wasn’t going to hurt myself or hospitalise myself; I refused to accept that there was something wrong with me, or that I had a fear of flying, or that I was infectious and couldn’t be around other people. I just kept going, first into a cab and then to the airport, dowsing the worst of the torturous thoughts with booze on the flight.
It made the ensuing boat trip less enjoyable, but with my head hung over the side for the duration, vomiting, meant the voices couldn’t cut through the sick induced fog in my brain.
Once I arrived at the remote destination - a barely populated remote island - I was led through a series of instructions. With each one I could feel the demon rise and struggle, its panic increasing to a screaming pitch. The small group were aware of this and handled me as though I was no longer lucid, placing me in the chair and setting stones in a circle round it, placing each one with a different chant, tone, and language.
With the arrival of each one, I could feel my own energy rise and the demon’s being pushed out. It grappled for my mind, tearing thoughts of malice and hatred across it; screaming at me, screaming at them, monopolising my ability to think.
At the last stone, the group joined hands and synchronised the final invocation, turning in a circle, each stepping on the stone to push it further into the sand. And on the last word, it flew out of my brain like a cork from a bottle, leaving me exhausted but elated, back in control.
They left me to gather myself, telling me to take my time, encouraging and reassuring me that I would be safe outside of the circle too, but for the moment, this was where I wanted to be, remembering who I was, ready to be my own person again.
I had this story in my head for a while, but I struggled to develop it and not sound like a boring narrative. I hope it's worked.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Released
Sitting here in the little wooden chair, enjoying the sunrise for the first time in decades, I sighed: I was safe. I’d dreamt of this moment and it didn’t disappoint; my mind was my own again.
It hadn’t been easy getting here, a life-long mission, through many lives. Time after time attempts had been made to release me, but each time the demon had remained and gone on to create further pain and misery. But finally the right words and incantations had been found.
I could no longer remember a time before the demon, only when I had first spotted it. I had glanced in a mirror – a luxury item in that lifetime – and I could see it in my eyes: a dark reflection, a dullness that hadn’t be there before, something looking out that wasn’t a part of me. And then the thoughts had started: the paranoia, the thoughts telling me to hurt myself, the urge to hurt others, and the confusion about whether I had or not leading me to self-destruction or reclusion.
It leached onto others and turned them too. A few strong ones had resisted and identified the truth, so I developed a way to shackle my true essence to them and find them in the next life, hoping to harness their abilities to rid me of this thing. It hadn’t worked until now.
It was thanks to Emmie. She had persevered through the last seven lifetimes, edging closer and closer to the solution. She had tried spells and enchantments, sometimes distracting the demon, allowing me to return to myself for a few moments and regain my inner energy. And in those lucid windows she had taught me how to build my strength and increase my protective wall, pushing it out, making it more difficult for the demon to re-engage, even though it ultimately did, until the day her team had found the words.
In this lifetime, Emmie had been born into an academic family, one with a unique interest in alchemy with an extensive library on the practices of the black arts, including how to perform exorcisms. Once we had found one another again, I became her pet project and we went through rigorous tests and experiments trying to unhinge the thing. She brought in an entire team, determined to achieve it this time, each member bringing their own insight to the table.
When an invitation and airline ticket arrived by courier I didn’t hesitate, despite the noise in my head ramping up significantly. But I wasn’t going to hurt myself or hospitalise myself; I refused to accept that there was something wrong with me, or that I had a fear of flying, or that I was infectious and couldn’t be around other people. I just kept going, first into a cab and then to the airport, dowsing the worst of the torturous thoughts with booze on the flight.
It made the ensuing boat trip less enjoyable, but with my head hung over the side for the duration, vomiting, meant the voices couldn’t cut through the sick induced fog in my brain.
Once I arrived at the remote destination - a barely populated remote island - I was led through a series of instructions. With each one I could feel the demon rise and struggle, its panic increasing to a screaming pitch. The small group were aware of this and handled me as though I was no longer lucid, placing me in the chair and setting stones in a circle round it, placing each one with a different chant, tone, and language.
With the arrival of each one, I could feel my own energy rise and the demon’s being pushed out. It grappled for my mind, tearing thoughts of malice and hatred across it; screaming at me, screaming at them, monopolising my ability to think.
At the last stone, the group joined hands and synchronised the final invocation, turning in a circle, each stepping on the stone to push it further into the sand. And on the last word, it flew out of my brain like a cork from a bottle, leaving me exhausted but elated, back in control.
They left me to gather myself, telling me to take my time, encouraging and reassuring me that I would be safe outside of the circle too, but for the moment, this was where I wanted to be, remembering who I was, ready to be my own person again.
December 19, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 86
This week's prompt photo is actually a close up shot of a much larger photo, taken by Brian Romeijn, a Rotterdam based photographer, who became well know for this series of photos he took of the Orient Express, which stands abandoned in Belgium after its last trip in December 2009. You can see the original picture on his site, Precious Decay, along with a variety of other photos of urban decay.
It prompted a dark tale. I went for a ghost story and this came out instead. Enjoy!
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Lie In Wait
He walked through the carriage. He could see them all perfectly in his mind’s eye, seated in their finery. The travel outfits, the latest fashion of the era, bought specially for the journey: bustles and black ties, stiff collars and corsets. He could hear their pleasantries and their witty banter as they past the time staring out of the windows. Men and women – rarely children, unless groomed for such a trip to sit quietly and attentively – impressed by the carriages, the exquisite train, all revelling in their wealth and comfort, all believing that it was the purpose of life.
Then as he passed through into another carriage, he felt it. It was still present at the edges, gnawing away at the fading decadence. A pervasive darkness that lay in wait, as it had done then. Little had they known how vulnerable they’d been; how easily they had been taken and diverted. He wondered how it had manifest; how it had travelled from one to another.
He witnessed the dark stains, too numerous to hide, even in the decay that the decades had wrought; the rips and slash marks in the upholstery where the filling now burst from, and heard a whisper of the cries that had been released in their last throws.
No one had been able to explain the arrival of a train full of slaughtered people, with no one living but the driver, who had been oblivious to the contents he’d been carrying, despite spending a lifetime rotting in a prison cell paying for it. People had speculated on who else it could have been, how someone could have jumped on or off the train and done it. But he knew differently.
He had examined the faded pictures, identified the marks from one to the other, how each had taken their part; the system and pattern was ever present in the chaos of the pictures if you had a mind to see it, and he did. And here, now, he knew he hadn’t been wrong in its origin.
He paused in the middle of the second carriage and waited. It whispered at the edge of his hearing, words starting to form, cajoling, persuading, enticing. He smiled. If he could get it to come to him, he could give it what it needed: a channel, an outlet, a place to reside. He would welcome it and give it an opportunity. It would be his, to use as he pleased.
His head tilted back as the murmurs grew to voices, and opened his arms. The smile on his face spread, his mouth opening wide. And as it arrived, a roar of laughter built up inside him and exploded out, shaking the remains of what they dubbed ‘the carriages of carnage’, waking the souls that slept there, to taste the fear again.
It prompted a dark tale. I went for a ghost story and this came out instead. Enjoy!
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Lie In Wait
He walked through the carriage. He could see them all perfectly in his mind’s eye, seated in their finery. The travel outfits, the latest fashion of the era, bought specially for the journey: bustles and black ties, stiff collars and corsets. He could hear their pleasantries and their witty banter as they past the time staring out of the windows. Men and women – rarely children, unless groomed for such a trip to sit quietly and attentively – impressed by the carriages, the exquisite train, all revelling in their wealth and comfort, all believing that it was the purpose of life.
Then as he passed through into another carriage, he felt it. It was still present at the edges, gnawing away at the fading decadence. A pervasive darkness that lay in wait, as it had done then. Little had they known how vulnerable they’d been; how easily they had been taken and diverted. He wondered how it had manifest; how it had travelled from one to another.
He witnessed the dark stains, too numerous to hide, even in the decay that the decades had wrought; the rips and slash marks in the upholstery where the filling now burst from, and heard a whisper of the cries that had been released in their last throws.
No one had been able to explain the arrival of a train full of slaughtered people, with no one living but the driver, who had been oblivious to the contents he’d been carrying, despite spending a lifetime rotting in a prison cell paying for it. People had speculated on who else it could have been, how someone could have jumped on or off the train and done it. But he knew differently.
He had examined the faded pictures, identified the marks from one to the other, how each had taken their part; the system and pattern was ever present in the chaos of the pictures if you had a mind to see it, and he did. And here, now, he knew he hadn’t been wrong in its origin.
He paused in the middle of the second carriage and waited. It whispered at the edge of his hearing, words starting to form, cajoling, persuading, enticing. He smiled. If he could get it to come to him, he could give it what it needed: a channel, an outlet, a place to reside. He would welcome it and give it an opportunity. It would be his, to use as he pleased.
His head tilted back as the murmurs grew to voices, and opened his arms. The smile on his face spread, his mouth opening wide. And as it arrived, a roar of laughter built up inside him and exploded out, shaking the remains of what they dubbed ‘the carriages of carnage’, waking the souls that slept there, to taste the fear again.
December 18, 2018
2018 Tipsy Santa Blog Hop
It's been 5 years since the last one, but Tipsy Santa Blog Hop is back, hosted by Ruth Long, and co-hosted with Cara Michaels and Laura James.
Any genre gives, but being Tipsy is a requirement. Why don't you give it a go?
The Truth About Santa
Jake was excited. He lay in his bed trying hard to get to sleep, but it was Christmas Day tomorrow and his mind raced at all the possibilities it would bring. He also tried hard to remember his Christmas list for Santa. Mum had put the envelope in her handbag to send off. He wasn’t sure if he put the new Turbo Stunt remote control car on it. He hoped so. He really wanted it.
He kicked his legs under his duvet to try and release his excitement. Then he stopped suddenly. What was that? Were those bells he could hear? Was Santa on the roof? There was definitely shuffling, downstairs. He was putting the presents under the tree! Jake just knew it.
He pushed back his duvet and climbed out of bed carefully, knowing the floor would squeak if he put too much weight on it too fast. He tiptoed to his bedroom door and put an ear to it. Was that singing? Could he hear someone singing? Jingle Bells. It was definitely Jingle Bells. He turned the handle on his door gently and pulled the door open a crack. Yes, singing.
Then the sound burst out into the hallway and Jake almost slammed his bedroom door shut in fright. There was just a narrow slit and he peeped out. He could only see the top of the stairs, not what was at the bottom – or who. Whoever it was didn’t seem to care if they woke him. Would Santa really do that? He listened to what was being sung. The words weren’t clear, like the person couldn’t quite get his mouth round them. They seemed to slur and then the person belched.
Then the tune changed to Oh Danny Boy, but instead it was his name being sung: ‘Oh Jakey Boy’. The voice was familiar.
He opened his door wider and crept to the top of the stairs and crouched down, peeping through the banisters to the hallway below. He could see the red suit, the hat, and white whiskers of a beard. It was definitely Santa, but he was hanging onto the bottom of the stairs swinging back and forth with a glass in his hand. And instead of the milk Jake had put in it, there was brown liquid like the stuff his dad drank.
As Santa swung back towards him in mid song, he spotted Jake and cried out, “Jakey! There you are!”
“Dad?” Jake stood up. “Why are you dressed as Santa?”
His dad chuckled. “Oh Jakey, you don’t still believe in him do you? It’s me! It’s been me all along!”
Then his dad swung too far and lost his balance, landing in a heap of whiskey and red material. He didn’t move, instead a raucous snore bounced up the stairs to Jake who stood at the top with tears in his eyes.
Santa wasn’t real and instead it was his dead beat dad. There was no chance he’d get the Turbo Stunt car now.
Any genre gives, but being Tipsy is a requirement. Why don't you give it a go?
The Truth About Santa
Jake was excited. He lay in his bed trying hard to get to sleep, but it was Christmas Day tomorrow and his mind raced at all the possibilities it would bring. He also tried hard to remember his Christmas list for Santa. Mum had put the envelope in her handbag to send off. He wasn’t sure if he put the new Turbo Stunt remote control car on it. He hoped so. He really wanted it.
He kicked his legs under his duvet to try and release his excitement. Then he stopped suddenly. What was that? Were those bells he could hear? Was Santa on the roof? There was definitely shuffling, downstairs. He was putting the presents under the tree! Jake just knew it.
He pushed back his duvet and climbed out of bed carefully, knowing the floor would squeak if he put too much weight on it too fast. He tiptoed to his bedroom door and put an ear to it. Was that singing? Could he hear someone singing? Jingle Bells. It was definitely Jingle Bells. He turned the handle on his door gently and pulled the door open a crack. Yes, singing.
Then the sound burst out into the hallway and Jake almost slammed his bedroom door shut in fright. There was just a narrow slit and he peeped out. He could only see the top of the stairs, not what was at the bottom – or who. Whoever it was didn’t seem to care if they woke him. Would Santa really do that? He listened to what was being sung. The words weren’t clear, like the person couldn’t quite get his mouth round them. They seemed to slur and then the person belched.
Then the tune changed to Oh Danny Boy, but instead it was his name being sung: ‘Oh Jakey Boy’. The voice was familiar.
He opened his door wider and crept to the top of the stairs and crouched down, peeping through the banisters to the hallway below. He could see the red suit, the hat, and white whiskers of a beard. It was definitely Santa, but he was hanging onto the bottom of the stairs swinging back and forth with a glass in his hand. And instead of the milk Jake had put in it, there was brown liquid like the stuff his dad drank.
As Santa swung back towards him in mid song, he spotted Jake and cried out, “Jakey! There you are!”
“Dad?” Jake stood up. “Why are you dressed as Santa?”
His dad chuckled. “Oh Jakey, you don’t still believe in him do you? It’s me! It’s been me all along!”
Then his dad swung too far and lost his balance, landing in a heap of whiskey and red material. He didn’t move, instead a raucous snore bounced up the stairs to Jake who stood at the top with tears in his eyes.
Santa wasn’t real and instead it was his dead beat dad. There was no chance he’d get the Turbo Stunt car now.
December 12, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 85
This week's prompt is a piece of Digital Art from a French artist, Cyril Rolando, or AquaSixio over on Deviant Art. He calls this Piano Lesson.
A last minute tale popped into my head for this one, after forgetting it was Wednesday and I hadn't written anything!
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Capturing Magic
Chris positioned the video camera then he positioned the bird. The owl clung to the edge of the piano, unsure what it was meant to do, looking at the keys. Then it reached out a claw and depressed one. The piano gave off a short low base sound. Chris thought it might startle, but instead it froze, looking more closely at the key it had pressed. Then it did it again.
Chris felt prickles of goosebumps run up his arms as he tapped the record button and looked through the lens, zooming in on the owl’s talons as it laid them on one key after another. But he found himself pulling away again to watch with the naked eye as a melody became apparent.
Even though he was seeing and hearing it, he couldn’t quite believe it, and nor would anyone else. He knew the video would be considered a hoax of some sort, edited or dubbed over with the music, but he left it running anyway, transfixed by the owl as it played tunes he swayed to, watching it dance up and down the piano keys in an almost comical way, yet like a master composer and concert pianist.
Chris dug finger nails into his crossed arms to convince himself he was awake and this was real. The pain was significant; it had to be.
It went on for more than half an hour until finally the piece of music reached its crescendo. Chris applauded wildly, so enraptured by the performance, and the owl turned to him, cocking its head as though acknowledging the appreciation.
Then it cocked its head in the other direction, towards the conservatory where its cage was kept and leapt off the piano towards it. Chris was so mesmerised by the playing he assumed the bird was tired and returning to its perch to rest, forgetting that it had just displayed high intelligence and wasn’t captive bred.
The top two windows of the conservatory were open to let the room breathe and out the bird flew, gone, along with Chris’s dreams of a repeat performance.
A last minute tale popped into my head for this one, after forgetting it was Wednesday and I hadn't written anything!
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Capturing Magic
Chris positioned the video camera then he positioned the bird. The owl clung to the edge of the piano, unsure what it was meant to do, looking at the keys. Then it reached out a claw and depressed one. The piano gave off a short low base sound. Chris thought it might startle, but instead it froze, looking more closely at the key it had pressed. Then it did it again.
Chris felt prickles of goosebumps run up his arms as he tapped the record button and looked through the lens, zooming in on the owl’s talons as it laid them on one key after another. But he found himself pulling away again to watch with the naked eye as a melody became apparent.
Even though he was seeing and hearing it, he couldn’t quite believe it, and nor would anyone else. He knew the video would be considered a hoax of some sort, edited or dubbed over with the music, but he left it running anyway, transfixed by the owl as it played tunes he swayed to, watching it dance up and down the piano keys in an almost comical way, yet like a master composer and concert pianist.
Chris dug finger nails into his crossed arms to convince himself he was awake and this was real. The pain was significant; it had to be.
It went on for more than half an hour until finally the piece of music reached its crescendo. Chris applauded wildly, so enraptured by the performance, and the owl turned to him, cocking its head as though acknowledging the appreciation.
Then it cocked its head in the other direction, towards the conservatory where its cage was kept and leapt off the piano towards it. Chris was so mesmerised by the playing he assumed the bird was tired and returning to its perch to rest, forgetting that it had just displayed high intelligence and wasn’t captive bred.
The top two windows of the conservatory were open to let the room breathe and out the bird flew, gone, along with Chris’s dreams of a repeat performance.
December 5, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 84
This week's picture is yet another untraceable one. It is on wallpaper sites and used by thousands of people - it is such a shame that the artist doesn't get credit for it. This picture has a name in the corner, but I can't quite decipher it. I have tried different spellings but to no avail. If you do know, please let me know and I will credit it correctly.
This one was pretty simple for me, especially when I think of my writing career - or plans for my writing career and my impending participation in #PitMad over on Twitter.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Now or never
She knew she had to climb it – wanted to climb it even – but it scared her. She wanted to reach what was at the top; she wanted it so much, but looking at the bridge that led there it was filled with alarming risks and possible derailment.
There was only a loose chain to hold on to that would move and swing with the bridge, and there were gaps between the slats showing the depths she could plummet to below. Walking on it meant feeling unstable and uncomfortable; it meant navigating something that would expose her weaknesses. She was unsure if would bring her what she wanted. Would the light at the top be worth it? Would it provide her with everything she needed? She didn’t know. She had to dare to be brave and make herself vulnerable, and face it head on.
Could she live with not trying, not attempting at all? Could she live with never knowing if she would have reach that light, and what was on the other side? Could she live with regret and staying within an existence that was comfortable but not challenging? She didn’t think so.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head up, taking in deep breaths. She took a step onto the first rung and felt the wobble of the bridge. Her heart missed a beat and her hands were clammy on the chain links, but she gripped them tighter and steadied herself, getting ready for the climb of her life.
This one was pretty simple for me, especially when I think of my writing career - or plans for my writing career and my impending participation in #PitMad over on Twitter.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Now or never
She knew she had to climb it – wanted to climb it even – but it scared her. She wanted to reach what was at the top; she wanted it so much, but looking at the bridge that led there it was filled with alarming risks and possible derailment.
There was only a loose chain to hold on to that would move and swing with the bridge, and there were gaps between the slats showing the depths she could plummet to below. Walking on it meant feeling unstable and uncomfortable; it meant navigating something that would expose her weaknesses. She was unsure if would bring her what she wanted. Would the light at the top be worth it? Would it provide her with everything she needed? She didn’t know. She had to dare to be brave and make herself vulnerable, and face it head on.
Could she live with not trying, not attempting at all? Could she live with never knowing if she would have reach that light, and what was on the other side? Could she live with regret and staying within an existence that was comfortable but not challenging? She didn’t think so.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head up, taking in deep breaths. She took a step onto the first rung and felt the wobble of the bridge. Her heart missed a beat and her hands were clammy on the chain links, but she gripped them tighter and steadied herself, getting ready for the climb of her life.
November 28, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 83
Another uncreditable picture again for this week's prompt. This one really is all over the net, with pages and pages of locations. Such a shame. I would love to know who created it.
I seem to be in a dark mode of writing at the moment. Again I chose to think about of the box with this one, and came up with something a bit different, and it was further added to after a conversation with a friend about an article I'd read about someone on a raw meat only diet. You can find inspiration in everything.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Embracing Nature
Standing on top of the hill, Dan took in the breathtaking full moon. It was larger than he’d seen before, but he couldn’t decide if that was due to the perspective, being up high rather than looking out of the window of his small apartment.
He leaned on the spade and breathed in the night air, listening to nocturnal wildlife in the woods around him. He felt alive and energised, the adrenaline having flushed his system at this late hour. He loved how stark the trees were against the moonlit sky, showing their bones and core majesty. Not many living things could match such a display.
Humans became indistinguishable when they were just a pile of bones. Only a honed eye could even know their gender. Did trees have genders? He wondered if they felt him dig around them. He wondered if he cut across any threads of their roots. He hoped not. They didn’t deserve to be cut down, or to suffer in any way. They gave so much to humans: food, shelter, even the air they breathed. It was scandalous how easily dismissed they were; how easily cut down and replaced. But it was the human way with every living thing on this planet. Anything that had a life force had to be controlled, and managed, and bred to suit a purpose. It made Dan sick.
Rage fuelled his return to digging. He wanted to make sure he buried them deep. Loads of people walked their dogs over the heath. They were only bones, but they were bones that could be ID’d. They were clean though; he’d stripped and boiled them.
People didn’t understand how difficult it was living how he did, seeing things the way he did. He’d learnt to keep his mouth shut and his head down. And more recently he’d found an outlet for his frustration as well as the answer to a food problem.
For years now he’d only been able to eat raw meat. His body had rejected all other food – especially when he’d tried going vegan. He hated slaughtering innocent animals. It went against everything he believed. He didn’t have the same compassion for humans though. Not on the whole. There were good people, but there were also not so good people; people that would take every last piece of you without feeling a second of guilt. He had too many of those people in his life, so it made it easier.
The first time he’d done it, he’d been wracked with guilt and paranoia. He’d cut up the meat into small pieces and stored it in the freezer as quickly as possible. He’d trained as a butcher since his raw meat diet and that serve him well. He wanted to leave as little trace as possible.
The bones had been large and difficult to handle, unlike animal bones. He’d sawn and broken then down, but it was hard to find a container large enough to boil them in altogether. He’d had to do several pot loads. It had made him twitchy, worried that someone would come round and find him in the middle of it.
But by the third time it had become automatic. He’d also made sure it was always late night; less chance of interruption. Plus he realised that most of his friends and neighbours knew that he slaughtered and prepared his own animals, so blood, bones and pieces of meat in his apartment was no big deal. He relaxed. He still had to think about alibis, who he’d pick and plan it, but generally it became easier and he felt he was servicing others too by getting rid of these people.
He sometimes wished he could get access to an incinerator to burn the bones, but knew that was too risky. It wasn’t that simple either, he knew they’d need to be crushed after being burnt. The entire process took too long and was too suspicious on a regular basis, so burying was the only option. He’d grown creative with his locations. He tended to save up the bones and then drive to somewhere new. It made the chance of discovery and association to him less likely.
Dan enjoyed travelling to new areas of the country and exploring the countryside. There were some stunning places, and stunning views, like tonight, with the land soaked in moonlight and the silhouetted tree. On nights like this he wished he could bottle it and sell it.
I seem to be in a dark mode of writing at the moment. Again I chose to think about of the box with this one, and came up with something a bit different, and it was further added to after a conversation with a friend about an article I'd read about someone on a raw meat only diet. You can find inspiration in everything.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Embracing Nature
Standing on top of the hill, Dan took in the breathtaking full moon. It was larger than he’d seen before, but he couldn’t decide if that was due to the perspective, being up high rather than looking out of the window of his small apartment.
He leaned on the spade and breathed in the night air, listening to nocturnal wildlife in the woods around him. He felt alive and energised, the adrenaline having flushed his system at this late hour. He loved how stark the trees were against the moonlit sky, showing their bones and core majesty. Not many living things could match such a display.
Humans became indistinguishable when they were just a pile of bones. Only a honed eye could even know their gender. Did trees have genders? He wondered if they felt him dig around them. He wondered if he cut across any threads of their roots. He hoped not. They didn’t deserve to be cut down, or to suffer in any way. They gave so much to humans: food, shelter, even the air they breathed. It was scandalous how easily dismissed they were; how easily cut down and replaced. But it was the human way with every living thing on this planet. Anything that had a life force had to be controlled, and managed, and bred to suit a purpose. It made Dan sick.
Rage fuelled his return to digging. He wanted to make sure he buried them deep. Loads of people walked their dogs over the heath. They were only bones, but they were bones that could be ID’d. They were clean though; he’d stripped and boiled them.
People didn’t understand how difficult it was living how he did, seeing things the way he did. He’d learnt to keep his mouth shut and his head down. And more recently he’d found an outlet for his frustration as well as the answer to a food problem.
For years now he’d only been able to eat raw meat. His body had rejected all other food – especially when he’d tried going vegan. He hated slaughtering innocent animals. It went against everything he believed. He didn’t have the same compassion for humans though. Not on the whole. There were good people, but there were also not so good people; people that would take every last piece of you without feeling a second of guilt. He had too many of those people in his life, so it made it easier.
The first time he’d done it, he’d been wracked with guilt and paranoia. He’d cut up the meat into small pieces and stored it in the freezer as quickly as possible. He’d trained as a butcher since his raw meat diet and that serve him well. He wanted to leave as little trace as possible.
The bones had been large and difficult to handle, unlike animal bones. He’d sawn and broken then down, but it was hard to find a container large enough to boil them in altogether. He’d had to do several pot loads. It had made him twitchy, worried that someone would come round and find him in the middle of it.
But by the third time it had become automatic. He’d also made sure it was always late night; less chance of interruption. Plus he realised that most of his friends and neighbours knew that he slaughtered and prepared his own animals, so blood, bones and pieces of meat in his apartment was no big deal. He relaxed. He still had to think about alibis, who he’d pick and plan it, but generally it became easier and he felt he was servicing others too by getting rid of these people.
He sometimes wished he could get access to an incinerator to burn the bones, but knew that was too risky. It wasn’t that simple either, he knew they’d need to be crushed after being burnt. The entire process took too long and was too suspicious on a regular basis, so burying was the only option. He’d grown creative with his locations. He tended to save up the bones and then drive to somewhere new. It made the chance of discovery and association to him less likely.
Dan enjoyed travelling to new areas of the country and exploring the countryside. There were some stunning places, and stunning views, like tonight, with the land soaked in moonlight and the silhouetted tree. On nights like this he wished he could bottle it and sell it.
November 21, 2018
Review - Moth Girl versus The Bats, by Michael Wombat
Moth Girl versus The Bats by Michael WombatMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Perfect little book to accompany me on my day trip to London. A short but gripping read, and pocket sized so perfect for carrying round with me.
A steam punk suspense tale that will keep you on the edge of your seat as the main character, Thea, tries to uncover a mystery behind some ruthless mechanical bats.
This is not a book for the faint hearted. It is at times gory, but oh so funny in places too, with some great language - that might not suit everybody. I loved it.
And the tale ends on a cliff hanger. I look forward to the next instalment.
View all my reviews
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 82
This week's photo prompt is of white Tulips taken by Olay Seven, a Turkish photograph from Istanbul. He has taken these from a few angles. You can check out his instagram page here.
Such a light-hearted picture, but I couldn't possibly go that way now, could I? In fact this little story is the background story for one of my side characters in my novel, Sleep, which I hope to publish next year. A few of my beta readers will probably be able to identify who it belongs to.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
What Goes Around Comes Around
Ha, white tulips, I should have known, they are her favourite after all. Burying me in them is no surprise. When the sun opens them right up, they look rather stunning from this angle.
She managed it then. She did warn me should would one day. It always made me laugh. I didn’t think she had it in her. Seems I was wrong. I thought I’d kept her in her place. I did all the things those guys on the forum said, let her know who was boss, didn’t let her get above her station - but she blind-sided me with the kids. I hadn’t seen that coming. I thought they knew their place too. It seems I wasn’t clear enough. I just wasn’t always in the mood to discipline them. I was tired when I got home from work.
Huh, work. They’ll be wondering where I am now. At least I won’t have to work with that dipshit Trevor anymore. God I hated him. He was such a smartarse, and always sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. It was probably someone like him who gave her ideas about how to do it. She couldn’t possibly have thought it up on her own. She really wasn’t that clever. I mean look, she got the kids involved too; some mother, some wife!
But I didn’t think they’d have the guts either. Just goes to show you can never be too careful. Can’t even trust your own blood. I wasn’t surprised Roger helping his mum; he’s always been a mummy’s boy. I’ve never been able to cure him of that, no matter how much I tried. And he’s grown pretty big since hitting teenage. I struggle to control him sometimes – not that I let him know that. And I suppose Jerod would follow his big brother into anything. But little Louise? She was so pretty, so sweet, always giving her dad a little something and keeping her mouth shut about it. I never imagined she’d turn on me too.
Just goes to show. You can’t trust women, no matter their age.
What’s that noise? Are those sirens? Someone’s clocked that I’m not at work and that something’s gone down. Or did someone hear it? I put up a fight. I didn’t go down easy. The house must be a mess. Broken stuff and blood - blood’s hard to get rid of. Oh she’ll be in trouble now. I wish I was there to see her go down.
Karma’s a bitch – just like my wife.
Such a light-hearted picture, but I couldn't possibly go that way now, could I? In fact this little story is the background story for one of my side characters in my novel, Sleep, which I hope to publish next year. A few of my beta readers will probably be able to identify who it belongs to.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
What Goes Around Comes Around
Ha, white tulips, I should have known, they are her favourite after all. Burying me in them is no surprise. When the sun opens them right up, they look rather stunning from this angle.
She managed it then. She did warn me should would one day. It always made me laugh. I didn’t think she had it in her. Seems I was wrong. I thought I’d kept her in her place. I did all the things those guys on the forum said, let her know who was boss, didn’t let her get above her station - but she blind-sided me with the kids. I hadn’t seen that coming. I thought they knew their place too. It seems I wasn’t clear enough. I just wasn’t always in the mood to discipline them. I was tired when I got home from work.
Huh, work. They’ll be wondering where I am now. At least I won’t have to work with that dipshit Trevor anymore. God I hated him. He was such a smartarse, and always sticking his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. It was probably someone like him who gave her ideas about how to do it. She couldn’t possibly have thought it up on her own. She really wasn’t that clever. I mean look, she got the kids involved too; some mother, some wife!
But I didn’t think they’d have the guts either. Just goes to show you can never be too careful. Can’t even trust your own blood. I wasn’t surprised Roger helping his mum; he’s always been a mummy’s boy. I’ve never been able to cure him of that, no matter how much I tried. And he’s grown pretty big since hitting teenage. I struggle to control him sometimes – not that I let him know that. And I suppose Jerod would follow his big brother into anything. But little Louise? She was so pretty, so sweet, always giving her dad a little something and keeping her mouth shut about it. I never imagined she’d turn on me too.
Just goes to show. You can’t trust women, no matter their age.
What’s that noise? Are those sirens? Someone’s clocked that I’m not at work and that something’s gone down. Or did someone hear it? I put up a fight. I didn’t go down easy. The house must be a mess. Broken stuff and blood - blood’s hard to get rid of. Oh she’ll be in trouble now. I wish I was there to see her go down.
Karma’s a bitch – just like my wife.
November 14, 2018
Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 81
This week's photo prompt is of a red phone box graveyard, in a northern village called Carlton Miniott, Yorkshire. This photo take by Nicolas Ritter for the Mercury Press newspaper. He visited the yard back when he was just starting out as a photographer's assistant in 2012 and now lives in Berlin. More fascinating pictures in an article The Daily Mail ran.
I hope my story manages to impart what I imagine doing with these phone boxes. I chose dialogue rather than narration to impart it this time. It would/could be so cool.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Terminus
Alfie surveyed the yard. Yep, they were all here. He rubbed his hands together. This was going to be good.
He went into the mobile office where Gary was just finishing a call. He looked up. “We got them all?”
“Yep, all of them. There’s no more to be had anywhere.” Alfie perched on Gary’s desk.
“Excellent. Now the work can begin. When’s Ralph coming up?”
“Tomorrow, he’s bringing his tech crew with him. Two of his top guys, Matt and Leonard.”
“How long will it take?”
“What for all of them?”
“Well the first one’s going to be the most important as it’ll be the hub, so I should imagine it will take the longest.”
“Ralph estimated a minimum of two weeks to a maximum of four for the hub.”
“And we’re sure the government has shut down the entire system? We don’t want to risk any cock ups like arriving in one of their terminals.”
Alfie nodded. “They’re definitely all shut down. I’ve got two separate informants on the inside confirming it, and both worked directly with them. The entire system was abolished after the Faraday incident. Once that all unravelled so did the entire department.”
“Good.” Gary got up and went over to the small window that overlooked the lot. Alfie joined him.
The roofs of the decaying red telephone boxes looked like sentinels waiting for orders. Alfie could already imagine them all painted up.
He glanced at Gary who was smiling. “Penny for them?”
“It’s ingenious. We can hide them in plain sight. People’ll think they are just monuments or pieces of art. We can put them anywhere we want. We’re going to make a killing.”
Alfie grinned. “We are. We’ve already got 100 elites signed up waiting to go.”
“We’re going to have to pace ourselves. We don’t want to rush it. If we get found out at this stage the entire thing could collapse. But if this works and we get enough of the elite influentials on board, they won’t be able to close us down.”
“Got to let the dust settle. People are still worried about a repeat of what happened to Faraday.”
“And, what are the chances of a repeat?” Gary shot Alfie a sharp look.
Alfie pursed his lips. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t advise using them until Ralph and his crew have done their test runs.”
“Test runs?”
“Yeah, the 100 elites. Ralph says if they want it so badly let them take the risk. He wants to see more than 10 teleports on each terminal before he’s satisfied. They’ve all signed up to the exemption clause.”
“And you’re sure there’s no risk of come back on us?”
Alfie folded his arms and rocked on his heels. “Iron clad. Had the lawyers check it every which way.”
“Good.”
“Ralph says he thinks he knows what caused it anyway.”
“They’ve still got the guy in hospital, haven’t they?”
“Yep, high security psychiatric wing. They’re still trying to work out if his brain will ever function properly again.”
“It wasn’t just his mind though, was it? They were always worried teleportation would affect the brain, but it screwed up his body too, didn’t it?”
“Yep, that’s what Beggsey said when he called me from the scene. Limbs round the wrong way, hair in wrong places. Enough to make you shudder.”
Gary did shudder. “But Ralph thinks he knows the answer?”
“Yep. He said something about molecule recalibration. He’s got such a brain on him.”
“And we’re able to tap it!” Gary’s eyes sparkled as he turned back to his desk. “Which reminds me, we need to get him and his crew signed up when they arrive. Don’t want them doing this tech with anyone else.” He shuffled papers around on the desk, putting a particular one on top.
Alfie followed him back to the desk and picked up the contract. “Yep, got to get all our ducks in a row. An underground teleportation system disguised in antique telephone boxes. It’s brilliant. This is going to be so good.”
I hope my story manages to impart what I imagine doing with these phone boxes. I chose dialogue rather than narration to impart it this time. It would/could be so cool.
The General Guidelines can be found here.
How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.
There is also a Facebook group for Mid-Week Flash, if you fancy getting the prompt there.
Terminus
Alfie surveyed the yard. Yep, they were all here. He rubbed his hands together. This was going to be good.
He went into the mobile office where Gary was just finishing a call. He looked up. “We got them all?”
“Yep, all of them. There’s no more to be had anywhere.” Alfie perched on Gary’s desk.
“Excellent. Now the work can begin. When’s Ralph coming up?”
“Tomorrow, he’s bringing his tech crew with him. Two of his top guys, Matt and Leonard.”
“How long will it take?”
“What for all of them?”
“Well the first one’s going to be the most important as it’ll be the hub, so I should imagine it will take the longest.”
“Ralph estimated a minimum of two weeks to a maximum of four for the hub.”
“And we’re sure the government has shut down the entire system? We don’t want to risk any cock ups like arriving in one of their terminals.”
Alfie nodded. “They’re definitely all shut down. I’ve got two separate informants on the inside confirming it, and both worked directly with them. The entire system was abolished after the Faraday incident. Once that all unravelled so did the entire department.”
“Good.” Gary got up and went over to the small window that overlooked the lot. Alfie joined him.
The roofs of the decaying red telephone boxes looked like sentinels waiting for orders. Alfie could already imagine them all painted up.
He glanced at Gary who was smiling. “Penny for them?”
“It’s ingenious. We can hide them in plain sight. People’ll think they are just monuments or pieces of art. We can put them anywhere we want. We’re going to make a killing.”
Alfie grinned. “We are. We’ve already got 100 elites signed up waiting to go.”
“We’re going to have to pace ourselves. We don’t want to rush it. If we get found out at this stage the entire thing could collapse. But if this works and we get enough of the elite influentials on board, they won’t be able to close us down.”
“Got to let the dust settle. People are still worried about a repeat of what happened to Faraday.”
“And, what are the chances of a repeat?” Gary shot Alfie a sharp look.
Alfie pursed his lips. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t advise using them until Ralph and his crew have done their test runs.”
“Test runs?”
“Yeah, the 100 elites. Ralph says if they want it so badly let them take the risk. He wants to see more than 10 teleports on each terminal before he’s satisfied. They’ve all signed up to the exemption clause.”
“And you’re sure there’s no risk of come back on us?”
Alfie folded his arms and rocked on his heels. “Iron clad. Had the lawyers check it every which way.”
“Good.”
“Ralph says he thinks he knows what caused it anyway.”
“They’ve still got the guy in hospital, haven’t they?”
“Yep, high security psychiatric wing. They’re still trying to work out if his brain will ever function properly again.”
“It wasn’t just his mind though, was it? They were always worried teleportation would affect the brain, but it screwed up his body too, didn’t it?”
“Yep, that’s what Beggsey said when he called me from the scene. Limbs round the wrong way, hair in wrong places. Enough to make you shudder.”
Gary did shudder. “But Ralph thinks he knows the answer?”
“Yep. He said something about molecule recalibration. He’s got such a brain on him.”
“And we’re able to tap it!” Gary’s eyes sparkled as he turned back to his desk. “Which reminds me, we need to get him and his crew signed up when they arrive. Don’t want them doing this tech with anyone else.” He shuffled papers around on the desk, putting a particular one on top.
Alfie followed him back to the desk and picked up the contract. “Yep, got to get all our ducks in a row. An underground teleportation system disguised in antique telephone boxes. It’s brilliant. This is going to be so good.”
