Oskar Leonard's Blog, page 11

Look At A Book: Lighter Fluid

Okay, so this week we’re going to do something a little bit different. Instead of highlighting some of my short fiction, I’m going to start a new blog project over the next few weeks: highlighting one of my books in each post! I’ll be going through some background information, the essential details and some fun little tidbits to see if each book would be a good fit for you as a reader. It’ll be nice to take a look back at some of my older works and hopefully, you’ll be able to find something that interests you! So, let’s kick off the first Look At A Book with my first-ever novella: Lighter Fluid.

Lighter FluidThe Essentials

A gritty, emotional high school tale.

Genre: Contemporary, Drama

Age Range: Young Adult

Length: Novella

Main Character: Jey, they/them

Themes: Adolescence, Hardship, Family (or lack thereof), Mental Health, Identity, Relationships

Excerpt

They’d chosen to be alone—that was why their fingertips met the cold concrete of the toilet cubicle’s tiled floor, and, if they stretched, could dance along the material of their backpack, resting against the door. Closer, and they could explore the loose threads hanging out of the stitching of their royal blue blazer, far too big for their scrawny body, unbuttoned and with two sides trailing on the floor. Gradually, that touch on reality restored the bubbles to their origin, quietly hissing and spitting inside their stomach, as they came back into a stable frame of mind.

“Well, are you going to tell him?” Their ears, searching for something to hear, found a conversation a few stalls down, presumably between two students through an open doorway. “You need to, at some point. It isn’t fair.”

“I’ll tell him.” That voice didn’t sound so sure of itself—even they could tell that much. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s my job to worry about you lot, you know that.” There was something inherently caring about the first voice; something warm and unmissably…  “There’s a reason everyone calls me mum.” Yes, that was it: motherly. There was something unmissably motherly about them. “When will you tell him?”

“Soon.” Their dismissive tone was doing nothing to inspire any confidence in their half-promise, and so it remained a half-promise and refused to grow. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“He’s in the canteen. We can go there now.” Their offer was met by a scuffing of shoes against tiles, and a cough which could have only been buying time. “Stop avoiding my eyes, I know when you’re trying to talk your way out of shit.”

“You know me too well.” A nostalgic undertone drove their words, suddenly confident; the confidence was broken down immediately, replaced by cowed guilt.

“Stop trying to change the subject. You need to tell him.”

Steadily, they found that their breathing was returning to normal—had it ever not been normal? It felt like they hadn’t been breathing properly for their entire life, like they were only just gaining a proper appreciation for the air which they had previously taken for granted. It kissed their throat as it entered their body, stroking the flesh until it came to their lungs, which embraced it as an old friend, only truly loved in new light due to absence. What was that saying…? Absence made the heart grow fonder? Whatever it was, they thought, it applied to this situation.

The Background

Lighter Fluid began as a semi-regularly updated project on Tapas.io, where you can still read it today (huge thanks to Mikiwi who really gave me the encouragement to keep going with the story through their amazing comments)! It was also a Camp NaNoWriMo project, which I always find helps out with my productivity. It’s dedicated to… well, as it says, everyone who had to put up with me in high school, so that’s all of my friends and teachers. I drew a lot of inspiration from my time at high school (education from 11-16 years old, if you’re not familiar with the UK education system, haha), although Lighter Fluid’s highs and lows definitely go far beyond anything that I had to go through during that time period. It’s like real life kicked up to 11, while not going into fantasy or sci-fi or anything of that sort. It was also the first book that I uploaded as a free eBook on Smashwords as well as having the print edition available to purchase, which is now standard practice for all of my books.

Is It Right For You?

If you’re not a fan of strong language, mentions of some rather illegal but fairly believable teenage activities, and generally a story set in a UK high school, then this might not be for you. There are elements of romance, but it’s not the strongest thread throughout the book, so if you’re looking for a straightforward romance then this also won’t be for you. Speaking of straightforward, Lighter Fluid is told non-chronologically, with very short chapters or scenes spread across the five years of high school (Years Seven to Eleven) which culminate to create the full story of Jey’s high school experience. Our main character, Jey, uses they/them pronouns, but I specifically didn’t make this a huge part of their character – it comes up in maybe one scene as a talking point, but this is nowhere near the level of LGBT+ focus as Everything Under The Rainbow. If you’re ready to go through the rocky journey of a group of teenagers through high school, making mistakes and just being human, then Lighter Fluid is definitely the book for you.

Oh, and there’s a cat called Kiss who fights the characters’ Head Of Year, in case that piques your interest!

Lighter Fluid can be read for free here or purchased here, if you’d like to support me!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to help out more directly!)

Firefly

This week, I’ve got a cute little poem that uses a firefly as a metaphor for love for you – I hope you enjoy it! There’s some similar poetry in Intricacies Inked In Ice if you’d like to check that out, and, of course, don’t forget to go and have a look at my latest novel, The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane, if you haven’t already! But anyway, onto the poem!

Firefly

Catch a firefly
and the warmth
flutters
between your hands.

Catch a firefly
and the feeling
melts
your heartstrings.

Catch a firefly
and in a single,
fleeting
moment, it is gone.

Catch a firefly,
but just know:
eventually
you must let it go.

Enjoyed the poem? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or purchasing one of my books!

(Available on Amazon & FREE ON Smashwords!)

Purgatory Inc.

This is an interesting little short story exploring a possible afterlife, so I really hope you enjoy it! I think the overall vibes are similar to my upcoming novella Sweet Dream, Bitter Reality and also some of the poems in Aleatory Poetry, so feel free to check them out if you’re interested to see more of this sort of writing from me. Also, if you haven’t already grabbed your free copy of my latest novel The Demon of Darkenhall Lane, a fantasy-romance tale of Demons, souls and paperwork, then feel free to give that a read too. Anyway, onto the story!

Purgatory Inc.

It is warm, and it has always been warm. For as long as existence itself has been present, this office building – perfectly standard in every way, from the layout of the cubicles to their soft grey colouring – has been kept to an ideal temperature. There has always been a low humming noise in the background, accompanied by the gentle clicking of keyboard keys and the occasional sigh. There has never been a door leading to the outside – there has never been an outside.

However, my computer screen has not always been like this. To clarify, it has always had the standard desktop background depicting a pleasant meadow and the icons leading to programs necessary for my work, but it has not always been so dim. I have never investigated the settings for screen brightness before, and some yawning inner voice tells me not to start now. So, I continue. I open a file. My fingers move to their rehearsed positions and create strings of letters and numbers until I am satisfied, and the file is closed. Another is opened. The process repeats. This is all there has ever been – this is all there will ever be.

It is not until the screen darkens so much that I cannot see the pleasant meadow and the useful icons that I begin to feel a sense of dread pooling in my stomach. Odd. The thought of having a ‘stomach’ has never struck me before, but I suppose I must. I have a body, don’t I? Just to check, I remove my hands from the now-useless keyboard and observe them. Thin fingers, almost skeletal, but definitely present. I let my eyes roam down, over the rest of my body. An inoffensive and appropriately smart grey suit covers what I presume must be my body. Satisfied, I return my gaze to my computer screen.

A spark flits from my throat to my brain, assuming I do have both of those body parts. The screen has darkened so much that now all I can see staring back at me is my own… what must be my own face. I do not recall ever seeing my face before, but something tells me that it shouldn’t look like… that. Gaunt. The skin appears to be stretched between my cheek bones, desperately attempting to retain some form of normal appearance. Then again, what is that? Why do I have a notion that what is looking back at me is not ‘normal’? This is all there has ever been. This is… this must be how I have always been.

But how can two eyes – are they eyes? – so dark and black that they have no pupils, no irises – yet what are they? – be normal?

Now trembling, I raise a single finger to my face. It touches the skin, so dry that it feels like bone. When have I touched bone? Regardless, the finger moves upwards, shaking relentlessly as it nears one of the hollow spheres that must be my eyes.

‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.’

My hand darts back to my keyboard, clattering against the plastic. I try to look back at the screen, guilt spreading through my body even as its presence confuses me, only to be met by that same face again. Utterly confused, I lower my eyes to the keyboard.

‘Don’t hide. I know you’ve woken up.’

Almost every fibre of my being tells me to ignore the voice. There has never been a voice. There is the humming, and there is the clicking, and there are sometimes soft sighs, barely audible. There is not a voice.

‘Alright then. Play hard to get.’

There is not the rolling of chair wheels – do the chairs have wheels? There are not footsteps. There is not a loud sigh, accompanied by half a chuckle. There is not a hand – a different hand, not my hand, some other hand – reaching down, taking my chin between its fingers, and moving my head so that I have no choice but to look up into two more dark, empty eyes. There is not a grin, almost cruel.

There is not a moment of silence, when everything that has ever been and ever will be falls into question.

‘Your screen’s dark,’ the voice comments. It belongs to the body in front of me – the owner of the hand. I shouldn’t respond, but I nod. My tongue, if I have one, turns to sandpaper in my mouth. ‘Congratulations.’

‘C-congratulations?’ My throat stutters over the word. Have I ever spoken? It feels wrong – incorrect, somehow.

‘Yeah. You’re one step closer.’

The grin widens. The touch on my chin tightens for a moment, before disappearing and becoming a soft pat of my head. The body turns, and for a moment I feel relief. The body is going. It was never here. There has only ever been…

The body turns back. It hauls a chair over from another desk, another cubicle. The wheels scrape against the carpet, complaining as if they, too, know that this is wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. This has never happened, and will never happen. Yet the body still draws up the chair, and sits by me, peering at my computer screen. Its head nods. The grin never leaves.

‘I don’t know how long it takes,’ the voice admits. ‘I’m still waiting. But when it went dark, that’s when I knew. I’m on my way outta here.’

‘There is no…’ I struggle to articulate what my instincts are telling me so plainly. ‘There is only here.’

For a moment, the grin slips. Some other expression crosses the body’s face, something that I might call pity, or sympathy. I don’t know why I know these things, or why the body’s face reminds me of such words, but that’s the least of my concerns right now.

‘There is another place,’ the voice assures me, reaching over to take my hand. It squeezes. ‘We’re on our way. One day, all of these lot-‘ the body’s other hand gestures around to the other bodies, all sat obediently at their desks, all continuing to work, ‘-will go too.’

I can’t articulate a response, so I merely shake my head. Again, the expression returns. It is replaced by the grin. My hand is squeezed tighter. Then, the touch begins to fade. I look down, expecting to see the body’s hand retreating away from me, but it remains. I bite my lip, becoming aware that I own teeth even as they begin to feel hazy, somehow, like smoke sitting between my lips. The voice gasps. All of the dread that I have collected spikes, becoming panic. I cannot feel the chair beneath me. I cannot feel my feet, within my shoes, on the floor.

The voice speaks, its tone becoming quicker and sharper, but I cannot make out the words. The body’s touch moves erratically, but it is nothing more than mist. Where have I seen mist, to know what it is? I know the office. I know the pleasant meadow, punctuated by icons. I know nothing else. Yet a world begins to shift inside my head, where my brain must lie. Images, grainy and muddled but undeniably present, appear and disappear, sliding in and out of existence.

‘Don’t be scared. You’re almost there.’

Almost… where? There has never been any place except…

But now there is no office, no desk or computer. There is no humming, clicking or sighing. There is no warmth.

I’m so cold.

Enjoyed the short story? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or purchasing one of my books!

(Available on Amazon & FREE ON Smashwords!)

Fly The Nest

Hi there! I have a nice little poem that was previously available in Watchdog Zine for you today, which will be perfect if you like birds (just like my poetry collection On Gentle Wings – trust me, it’s completely full of bird-inspired poetry). Also, quick reminder that The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane, my new fantasy-romance novel, is available both as a completely free eBook and in print. Any honest reviews will be loved and appreciated! But enough of that and on to the poem!

Fly The Nest

He was the first to fly the nest,
little brown head and rosen breast
peeking out of the woven home
from which he knew he had to roam.

Preening his feathers with tiny beak,
he took a step and made a squeak,
gathering courage with a trembling heart
he hopped and left, a fluffy dart

against the forest, as he fell,
wings flapping wildly against the swell
of rushing wind, a disguised friend
carrying him to the maiden flight’s end.

Enjoyed the poem? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or purchasing one of my books!

(Available on Amazon & FREE ON Smashwords!)

New Book – The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane

Okay, so this will be the last post about The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane, I promise! But the paperback and hardback versions have become available on Amazon if you’d like to head over and buy yourself a copy, so I thought I’d just make this post to update you on that – I know I’m really excited to get my hands on my copy once it arrives haha.

The free eBook copy is also still available and will remain free for… well, forever, I suppose, just like with all my other eBooks. You can also take a look at my other eBooks here!

I also have some quite exciting news… I’ve created a new website, The Author Journey, where I’ll be posting some tips and guides to writing, self-publishing and things like that. I know I’m not an expert, but I have been doing this for long enough to have fourteen books out now (which is kind of amazing to write) so I thought it might be helpful to share some of the information I’ve learned along the way, give some recommendations for software that I use and methods that I have, etc.

In terms of my next release, you can be on the lookout for the print copy of all three books in The Cats Collection, and I’m also working on getting Sweet Dream, Bitter Reality ready for publication soon too. Exciting times! If you’d like to support me directly while I’m busy writing and editing and doing all of that fun stuff, consider taking a look at my Ko-Fi – or, if you have a manuscript that you’d like to be beta-read (/edited, it’s kind of a mix of both if I’m being honest), you can hop over to my Fiverr. But that’s all from me this week!

Release Day – The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane

Couple of quick questions for you today! Do you like fantasy novels, specifically fantasy of manners? Are you interested by the concept of a fantasy city with a fiercely hierarchal, Victorian-esque society/technology level where Demons, Reapers and Souled (the normal humans) live side-by-side in an uneasy, gossip-fuelled coexistence? Does the added element of a slow-burn gay romance alongside a complex mystery narrative intrigue you?

If you answered ‘yes’ to any or all of those questions, then The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane might be the book for you! It’s available right now (just click here!) as a completely free eBook. Don’t worry if you don’t have the time to check it out just now, either; my eBooks are all free and will remain so for the foreseeable future. All I ask is that, if you do enjoy any of my books and want to share your thoughts (or even if you don’t enjoy them and want to tell me about that too!), you consider leaving a review and maybe sharing them to a couple of other readers who might also appreciate them!

So, what are you waiting for? A free fantasy experience awaits you, filled with Demons, soul contracts and… an orange cat called Marmalade? I promise it all makes sense in the novel! The print edition will be coming soon, which is a great option if you like the feel of a physical book and would also like to support me as an author (I also have a Ko-Fi if you’re feeling very generous), but for now, you can dive right into the world of The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane at the click of a button!

An Introduction To… The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane

Hi there! With work on The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane continuing and nearing completion, I thought I’d take some time to explore everything you might like to know prior to reading the book upon publication.

First of all, as you may know if you’ve been around here for a little while, The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane will be a completely free eBook just like all of my other new releases. It’s something I started with Lighter Fluid and have continued with pretty much all of my books, because I like the element of accessibility that it adds. No matter if you can’t spend any money on the book, or you need to access it as a document to adjust the font/size to read comfortably, or you just want to be able to read it on your phone, you’ll be able to get a copy for no cost at all. I use Smashwords.com for all of my eBooks, so feel free to check out some of my other books while The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane is still in the works – and hey, why not leave a review? I’m always really appreciative of feedback!

If you prefer the feel of a printed book, then I’ve got you covered there too. I use Blurb’s self-publishing service for my print books, and try to price them as reasonably as possible – as any other self-published authors will know, profits aren’t exactly high when you want to keep the price down because you have to factor in the printing cost (which likely includes the self-publishing service’s cut) and the distribution percentage (the bit of money which goes to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.) before even thinking about your own little bit of profit. However, I do try to keep them as low as I can. The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane is going to be one of my longer books, at between 300 and 400 pages, so the price is going to be a little higher than, for example, each book in The Cats Collection or some of my poetry collections like Intricacies Inked In Ice.

Now, I should probably spend some time actually talking about what’s in the book rather than just everything around it. The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane has been a project I’ve been working on for several years. I wrote the initial draft during Camp NaNoWriMo one year (feel free to friend me on the website if you also participate – my username is ‘oskarleonard’!) when I doubled my 20,000 wordcount goal to 40,000, and the novel then grew to 80,000 which I’m very happy with. It’s a fantasy of manners novel, which I personally like to describe as ‘fantasy where words solve problems rather than swords’. The entire premise is based around a Demon’s office, where Mr. Ambrose – the Demon – works in his species’ usual role of sorting out the soul accounts of the Souled. You can just think of those as the normal ‘humans’ of this world.

In this novel, your soul is a form of currency, and it can be divided into very small percentages for important purchases. For example, a percentage could be the deposit for a house, or a soul could be divided in a will between different family members. Imagine if your bank account was intricately connected to your being, and becoming ‘bankrupt’ left you as a shell of a person, not completely zombie-like but more prone to issues like depression and alcoholism, and estranged from a prejudiced, fiercely hierarchal society. The tech level is a blend of Victorian and early 1900s – there’s early telephones but letters are very much the main form of communication, and no one’s so much as heard of a computer yet, haha.

Our protagonist, Chance Poe, is a Souled secretary to Mr. Ambrose whose life has been pretty quiet so far. Standard school, standard first job, standard little house with a cat and a Soulless friend living outside. However, one of the main rules of this soul-based currency is that one person cannot own more than four souls at one time, making owners of four souls quite prominent and respected, especially to their Demon offices. A new four-souled account has appeared on the books at Mr. Ambrose’s Demon office, and neither he nor Chance has any recollection of the owner: Freya Hill. This strange occurrence leads them into an investigation which puts them both in physical danger, uncovers corruption in the soul system and, quite unexpectedly for both of them, leads to a little bit of a blossoming romance between the two, rather taboo for their conservative society.

Now, I won’t lie – if you’re looking for a steamy, erotic M/M romance, this is not your book. This is about as slow-burn as it gets, and I’m perfectly happy with that. If you like watching a tentative ‘we shouldn’t but these feelings are getting stronger and it’s hard to deny them’ narrative play out, then this is absolutely your book. I intentionally made the mystery the forefront of this novel, but the steadily growing romance is definitely a factor of the novel – like an additional layer for you to enjoy.

Oh, and there’s Reapers. So, just to recap, we have Souled (normal humans) and Demons (very large, very muscled humanoids with horns on their heads), and Demons are in charge of the Souled’s souls, in very official office settings. I imagine them as being akin to lawyers’ or attorneys’ offices, but that might just be me haha. However, we also have Reapers. Reapers are humanoid, but their ‘skin’ is reptilian scales and they have wings that are reminiscent of bat wings, and they’re pitch-black in colour. In this society, the Reapers are at the top – they’re the judges, the lawmakers, the ones in charge of the cities, etc. This is from how life in this setting evolved – there’s always been these three species, and in ancient times the Reapers and the Demons would trick and prey on the Souled. Now, they just have them trapped in this hierarchy that is part societal and part biological – although, there are, of course, exceptions to this rule, which may be explored in later content.

So, if any of that sounds at all interesting, I’d recommend swinging by the website in the first week of July to catch the release of The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane. Because of how my publishing platforms work, the eBook will be out a lot sooner than the print book, so you can always take the story for a trial run with the free version before committing to buying a physical copy, if you like. If you’re curious about the cover, then head over to Upcoming Releases to have a look!

I do think that this will probably be some of my best fiction work so far. It’s been through beta-reading courtesy of The Young Writers’ Initiative (also, I offer beta-reading through Fiverr if you’re interested in that!) and many, many proofreading and editing runs by myself, and it’s a universe that I’ve genuinely fallen in love with. If you like fantasy that’s regulated by laws and procedures rather than weapons and violence, punctuated with a little bit of hesitant gay romance and a wonderful friendship, as well as a ginger cat called Marmalade (yes, I’m very inventive, haha) then I can nearly guarantee that you’ll love this book. And, even if you don’t, if you’re just trying out the free eBook then you’re completely free to put it down and never return to it again, having wasted no money at all!

That being said, if you would like to support me, then there are ways to do so. I’m a young (I can’t say teenage anymore, having graduated to a full twenty years of age) student author studying a full-time English Literature with Creative Writing degree at Edge Hill University, alongside freelance beta-reading and writing work to pay the bills and feed myself. I’m also a trans man (transitioned female to male) and proud bisexual, and it is Pride Month so I feel like that’s relevant haha, but I also try to do a lot of positive work around LGBT+ topics, like the gay slow-burn romance in The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane and my LGBT+ short story/advice collection Everything Under The Rainbow, which contains links and organisations for LGBT+ teens in the UK to access alongside short stories specifically focused on LGBT+ issues (think coming out to your parents, dealing with homophobic bullying, struggling with gender dysphoria, etc.). I’ve also performed at Wigan Pride and used to be part of Wigan Council’s LGBT+ youth voice group, BYOU, where we did a lot of positive campaigning for the local LGBT+ community.

So if you’ve read all of this and you like what I do, consider leaving a tip on my Ko-Fi so I can keep creating literature which entertains, helps and maybe educates a little – even if it’s just teaching you about Demons, Reapers and Souled. I’ve got an example of one of my costs as a goal for my account – it costs £10 for me to get a copy of my own books when they come out, which I love having in a little section on my bookshelf, so you could be the very generous person who helps me towards being able to get my own printed copy of The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane. If not, no worries! I’d be over the moon if you took a little time out of your day to check out my eBooks on Smashwords, read one that tickles your fancy and leave a review, or share it with some of your friends. Or heck, just send me an email letting me know what you thought. Sometimes it feels crazy that actual people are reading the words that I put out there – it’s an awesome feeling, but definitely a bit surreal too.

If you’d like to get an email as soon as I publish The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane, then head over to my home page and subscribe to my newsletter! You’ll get a link straight to your inbox once I publish the novel, and probably a little paragraph about how much I appreciate you, haha. But seriously, if you’re still reading this, then thank you. It means a lot that some people out there are interested in what I do, and it feels magical that I can communicate with you like this.

Me And E

A couple of fun updates this week! The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane’s formatting is coming along nicely, and it should be ready for publication in early July. I’ve also decided to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo again this year, with a new project which I’m keeping under wraps for now, so stick around if you’d like to learn more as I get ready to reveal the details! For the post, I’ve decided to highlight a fiction piece, Me And E, which was previously published in TUGZ Magazine’s second issue – it’s got a bit of a dystopian vibe to it, so I hope you like it!

Me And E

It’s hard to find a haven when your world is swamped with electric lights and the cold, hard glares of Enforcement Officers. Sometimes, you can’t slip through the cracks–sometimes, E-Officers catch you before you can dart into the night. Not me and E, though.

Never me and E.

Our haven for tonight is a cramped alleyway, squeezed between a robo-assistant repair shop and a desolate office building. We watched the workers file out in long, miserable lines hours ago, their heads down and their suits grey. I couldn’t see their eyes, but I bet they had that dead look in them–the one we’re running from.

But we’re not just running. We’re sprinting madly like zigzagging rabbits, then looping back to hang around and watch the chaos that we leave behind. You’ve got to make your own fun in this city; no one else is going to do it for you, especially considering that ninety percent of the population don’t have enough energy in their bodies to crack a smile.

If we can’t find any more nutrient paste tonight, we might end up joining that percentage.

‘Pass us the grub, Tinz,’ E says, holding out an expectant, oily hand. I hand over a white packet, plastic and rolled up like a toothpaste tube on its last legs. ‘Christ. This won’t last us.’

‘Then find us another.’

As she squeezes the last of the pale pink sludge out of the packet, my hands become busy again, digging through a rectangular rubbish chute. These things jam more often than not, leaving little treasures behind that no one cares about, except us. They’re treasures drenched in dark, heavy liquid and stinking to the high, smog-hidden heavens of factories and machinery, but treasures nonetheless.

I pull back for a moment, and my fingernails bleed black. Small, invisible cuts sting along my fingers and inside my palms, but I don’t care. I can’t care. Infection and disease are worries for another day. Neither matter if I starve to death before they can even take root in my body. Sure, the thought of E having to watch over my body as I scream through a fever-dream is harrowing, but is it any worse than our current reality?

For want of a few credits to our names, we can’t have anything. No roof. No food. No water. This city is such a perfect little mess of twisted systems and policies, leading to a couple of unintentional drop-outs like us. If the E-Officers drag us to the station then we’ll get separated and spat into the ‘protected citizens’ system, which will have a heart attack when it realizes that neither of us exists anymore.

You’d have to be stupid to not realise that we exist, I know. E can’t get more obvious than having neon blue hair–a little faded now, to be fair, but it has been a few months since we found the dye–and I… I’m just a living, breathing human. I’ve got a heart in my chest and it’s beating, despite what the stupid systems say.

It’s better this way. I try to think like that. Don’t worry, Tinz, just imagine how absolutely boring life would be if you have a stable income and a warm home to relax in every night. Wouldn’t that be awful?

‘Nothing here, kid.’ E takes in a deep breath, shaking her head. ‘And nothing left. What a combo.’

‘We shoulda tried the mega-market,’ I say, plunging my hands back into the chute. ‘More food. Most we’re gonna find here is some mechanic’s lunch.’

‘Do you not wanna switch out, go somewhere else for tonight?’

Even at just the suggestion, I automatically check to my left and right. Moving is dangerous. Staying still isn’t great either, but moving introduces a whole new layer of possibilities for disaster.

This haven is a dead-end, but I don’t trust the brick wall between us and another block of offices. E reckons we can scale it, no problem, but there’s something about the looming structure that sets my heart fluttering. The easier escape route–until someone appears in it–is the opening at the other end of the alleyway. Shadows roam past sometimes; late buses herding the last of the evening shift home, and the first of the night shift to work.

E says she can remember when her parents had a car. Their own car, paid for by them and fuelled by them and driven by them. I can’t remember if my family ever did. Not that it matters now.

Now they don’t exist, and neither do I.

My stained fingernails disappear, curling into my palms until my hands are clenched into tight fists. Pain shoots around the nerves, tingling like little spikes of electricity. I can feel E’s eyes cutting into my face, but I can’t look at her. There’s a hand on my shoulder, and I know it’s hers, but I can’t look.

Closing my eyes, I know I’m in the apartment and it’s my mother’s hand on my shoulder. Her tiny, thin hands, webbed with sickly veins. I can eclipse them with my own even at my young age, with my emaciated frame. Never enough food. Never enough anything. The heating dies with a spluttering cough, and the electricity fizzles around us.

Just me and her. Me and Mum. E and me. No, not yet. Not E. She’s not here–it’s Mum’s hand on my shoulder, her tiny hand. It’s comforting. It’s everything I need and everything I’ve ever wanted. Our apartment is the world, and she–she is everything.

I can see her eyes. Red lines drill their way towards her irises, as if they’re trying to take everything from her, even that soft brown shade. Around us, the world shifts, but her eyes stay the same. Caring. Memories are swimming around her pupils, memories that I will never be able to experience, but I don’t mind. I can’t mind. Mum is everything. She has been everywhere and done everything, even when she hasn’t.

There’s a knock at the door. I know that E is on the other side of the wall, now. I know her parents and the lanky brother who smokes in the hallway. Still, E isn’t right here–she isn’t in the room. No, that’s just me and Mum.

Another knock at the door. She’s whispering in my ear but I can’t make out the words. She’s moving away from me, towards the door, and all I want to do is scream at her to stay away.

It would’ve been fine if she never opened the door.

It all would’ve been fine.

‘It’s okay, Tinz.’

No, that’s not her. She never called me Tinz. Tinz is later. I open my eyes and turn my head, even though the effort threatens to saw my neck in half. It’s E. E’s hand on my shoulder. E’s words in my ear. It’s always been E, ever since… that. Just us. Two crazy kids fighting tooth and nail to stay together, against every system and every E-Officer who tries to get in our way.

Neighbours, once. But that was another life.

‘I know,’ I say, but my chest shakes with a sigh that is assaulted by sobs.

‘It’s okay to cry, Tinz.’

‘I know.’ I don’t want to cry.

‘Just let it all out.’

‘I know.’ It needs to stay inside.

‘We’ll find some food. Come on.’

She rises to her feet and pulls me up with her, but I’m unsteady. Tears run down my face, gathering unceremoniously around my lips and jaw. E’s smile is the kind of motherly expression that really doesn’t help with intrusive memories, but I know she’s trying to help. Her sleeves dab away the tears, then her fingers smooth down my hair.

‘Somewhere new, right? We’ll find something. We always do.’

‘We always do,’ I echo, but the words are numb.

Havens are hard to come by in this city, and now we’re leaving one in an attempt to find another. Maybe we’re like rats, scurrying from food source to food source, but at least rats are better than ghosts–better than the zombies that shuffle to and from those brain-mushing jobs every day–better than the broken bodies that result from the back-breaking jobs we’d probably end up getting assigned to.

In this city, there’s no ideal life, not for us. There’s just the next step, and the one after that.

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Take Me With You

For this week’s post, I’ve decided to highlight a poem which was available in Issue Five of Ouch! Magazine, but is unfortunately no longer available. It’s got some pretty cool space vibes and I’m pretty happy with it, so I hope you enjoy it! Look out for some more news about my next novel release, The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane, next week!

Take Me With You

Take me with you. Please. I sit by my window
and beg, with salty, starry eyes, for you to appear.

Take me by the hand and let us soar, far away.
Show me the sparkling, inky world you call home.

Here? You don’t want to see this place. This home.
Doors off their hinges and beaten wood. Holes in walls.

Even this window is cracked. I can’t take it anymore.
I know you’re out there. Find me. Save me. Take me with you.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out some of my poetry collections?

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Love Letter Penned By A Pining Princess

For this week’s post, I’ve decided to highlight a poem that was previously available in TUGZ Magazine but unfortunately isn’t accessible at the moment. Nevertheless, I’ve got it here for you today and it’s suitably based around LGBT+ themes, particularly trans romance, for Pride Month. I hope you enjoy!

Love Letter Penned By A Pining Princess

This choking sunlight never burned
the skin you kissed when you were here;
one street away, another cul-de-sac,
and you saved me from the sting of this–

this suffocating existence, where normal
is king, and kings have queens, and I was yours,
but all they saw were two suburban princes,
living their best lives, side-by-side.

Light never found our intimate embraces,
when flesh melded and two became one–
in the daylight, even our fingers remained
so solitarily separate, never intertwined.

They could never see our hearts; I wouldn’t,
couldn’t, let them in. We lay on manicured
grass, letting sprinklers cast their liquid jewels
onto half-clothed bodies, attempting to forget

hidden nights, hearts throbbing together,
borrowed basements, never close to our own
carbon-copy castles–friends, knights, sworn
to secrecy; you threatened one with a knife,

some promise to ruin his tongue if he ever,
ever ruined our fragile regal lives, then sobbed
onto my lap once he left us to be us, not knowing
what could have ever driven you to such a thought.

Me. I knew. Or us, to be specific, because if I
meant nothing to you, then we would be nothing
and you would have never brought your blade
to his throat, and he would have never widened

his poor, bright eyes, still caught in a trance
of laughter, rapidly becoming terror. You were
a strict prince–we were a beautiful monarchy,
but no one could know quite how beautiful.

They still don’t. The day you left, I promised myself
to never tell a soul and preserve the kingdom’s memory
of their poster child–so athletic, so smart, so normal.
I take the walk up to the school alone, now,

no longer fielding questions about you because everyone
knows you as the one who left. I count the trees
until a full sixteen lead me to the gates
and I wish I could enter them by your side again–

truthfully, you were the only one who could ever
melt the edges of this stifling world, where I
cannot be me, and we could not be us, but still
I hold a little hope in my heart that you and I,

far from this desert of languid, performative life,
will meet again, and finally become the king and queen
we ought to be; rulers of a throne of our own,
so far from these homes that cannot be our homes.

Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out some of my poetry collections?

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