M.K. Lee's Blog: Telling Tales, page 168
February 18, 2017
Behind The Scenes: I am you, and you are me
This story was written after the Pulse horror, an awful reminder that as much as we grow more accepting, we seem to keep stumbling back.
The very moment this story came to be was when I was sat in a Polish cinema watching a trailer that I had no hope of understanding, but the soundtrack to which was Moody Blues’ Nights In White Satin. Now, I don’t know about you, but I often find myself trying to find meaning to, or interpreting the words of songs. The first part of this story is what I pictu...
Who are you?
If I’ve put either The Who, or CSI in your head, you’re welcome 
February 16, 2017
Hello :)
Hello!
Just thought I’d stop by and say hi, welcome along, thank you if you’re browsing through or new to this blog, it’s nice to meet talk at you
February 14, 2017
February 13, 2017
Tainted by our choices
Meet Jack. A successful environmental officer working within an industry that is so very far from his childhood dream of saving the planet that he no longer recognizes himself. How he’s found himself in Houston, Texas where he has no one, and nothing but his work for company, he tells himself repeatedly he doesn’t know. But when the place that became home had the heart sucked right out of it, and all around him was the remnants of a life he wouldn’t get to have, Jack ran, at the first opportu...
February 11, 2017
Pale
Sometimes people watching gets you into trouble. You notice all kinds of things; things you aren’t supposed to. The people you are watching, they are changing. But into what? Are you next?
So you’re standing in the queue for the checkout, clunky red basket in hand and bouncing off of your thigh in semi-impatience. There’s only one person in front of you but whatever they’re buying seems to be taking an age to be scanned.
Biting down the sigh you want to expel from your throat, you settle for...
February 10, 2017
The Military Wife
From the eyes of a military spouse: why you should never marry a soldier.
She always swore she’d never fall for a soldier.
Vivid childhood memories of Sunday afternoons spent after a huge roast dinner wedged between her grandparents had somehow taught her that. Her grandfather had served in the RAF during the Second World War, and his stories of the things he could tell her about played on her mind from an early age; the unspoken stories behind his eyes too horrific for her young mind to com...
Diesel
By day she plays make believe in her grandparent’s pantry, pretending she is in the cab of a train. But by night the train takes her to all kinds of places, making frequent stops at an abandoned platform where she fears she’ll never escape. Is it merely the stuff of nightmares, or is there a more grisly story to tell?
The pantry cupboard in my grandparent’s house was next to the front door.
It occupied a floor space of barely a square metre, but there was space enough for shelf upon shelf of...
February 9, 2017
The Clamps
In a post-Apocalyptic London exists a Workhouse for all of those who have nowhere else to go, where services are exchanged for shelter. There’s nowhere safer: even the beds have their own special form of security. Ask the children. They have a story to tell.
It was the kind of story that kept you pinned down in terror and the younger children believed in full fear, while the older boasted of their bravado and pretended they had no fear at all.
The beds strewn with blood and tell-tale yellow...
