Oskar Leonard's Blog, page 6

There Are No Bears In Ormskirk

This week’s poem is a light-hearted one that I am delighted to say was published in Active Muse’s Varsha 2024 Poetry Collection, and which I also had the opportunity to read out at Wigan Pride this past Saturday. I did want to upload the recording of that here, but it turns out I can’t add videos to these posts directly, so I’ll likely be uploading it to my X/Twitter account and then linking that to the Press page like I did for my 2022 performance. But anyway, without any further ado, here’s the poem!

There Are No Bears In Ormskirk

There are no bears in Ormskirk
is a farewell as beloved as
I love you, as secure as
stay safe, don’t die, and
as heartfelt as
smell you later, bitches!

Each rings through the hall,
taking turns like dish-washing
and living-room-hoovering.

Our neighbours must think
we are mad; but, there again,
they are roused by Eye of the Tiger
at eight in the morning on weekdays.

Between us, the insanity is melodic.

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The Feeding of Memories

Continuing the theme from the past few weeks, I’ve got another poem for you today! There’s a bit of a clear pattern with this one, which I tried to have some fun with, although ‘fun’ doesn’t feel quite right to describe a poem with this sort of tone. In any case, I hope you find this one to be an interesting read!

The Feeding of Memories

Ropes linger on the walls.
Walls bleed their life-blood, paint.
Paint masks the old wounds.
Wounds dry for silver scars.
Scars purple in the cold.
Cold bruises broken brains.
Brains remember music cries.
Cries kept me up at night.
Night belongs to salt-stained demons.
Demons knock so harsh for Hell.
Hell is locked inside a skull.
Skull crumbs feed the starving rats.
Rats burn for the ravenous self.
Self to self is always best.
Best falls off the highest cliff.
Cliff is source and solution: Heartbreak.
Heartbreak doesn’t sting in daylight.
Daylight is the only haven.
Haven invaded, Baby’s cries.
Cries kept me up at night.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

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Science Fiction

Leading on from last week, here’s another poem that I wrote in my final year of university which hasn’t yet been released anywhere else! Science Fiction is intended to have Frankenstein/body-snatching vibes with a fun, semi-romantic twist, so I hope you enjoy reading through this poem!

Science Fiction

She is coffee rings on anatomy textbooks,
her quill dissecting the brains, the nerves,
separating droplets of blood to form a new,
breathing thing—barely breathing, barely
allowed to enter the natural world,
but she has created it, and so she is content.

He is waiting under the gallows as the body
drops, scrambling to capture the freshest specimen,
allowing himself gasps of air as minuscule rewards
at every step of the harrowing mission, stealing away
under darkness, under the haze of oil-lit night
that is not yet an electric cacophony.

She is pencilling in a date for her diary,
between mutton-chopped lectures and study
by candlelight, washing the echoes of life
from her hands, hoping for the day when she,
finally, can take ownership of her own practice
and present to the world her magnum opus.

He is leading a knock-kneed horse cart
through the sprawling cobbles, hanging
around corners to avoid the helmeted busybodies,
until there is a courtyard—there is a door,
and here is his knuckle, against it, desperate
yet quieted, trembling but muted.

She is sprinting to her second half,
unknown except for a passed note,
and she is opening her world to him,
receiving his unholy gift with relish,
restraining herself from diving in,
sharpest tools prepared and waiting.

He is unsettled, momentarily,
by the frenzied passion, wide eyes,
harried steps, insistent whispering,
until he realises, candle wax crawling
down his hand as he ‘assists’, that
this is beauty—this is purest love.

Here, she is his Frankenstein,
and he, her hooked disciple.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

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Honourable Nonsense

I’ve got a bit of a different poem for you this week – the text was taken from a Commons Chamber debate about the Crystal Palace in 1851, which you can read here if you’re curious. It’s been switched around and altered quite a bit, but it makes for an intriguing poem in my opinion, and I hope you think so too! This is another poem that I wrote for university, but I don’t think I’m going to submit it anywhere, so it can live here on the blog instead.

Honourable Nonsense  They Set Up Their Baubles

Enemies of objects; enemies of advancement;
enemies of self-supporting principles—
they were public property, maintained by Her Majesty.

The poor should be fully remunerated for their labour;
they had wrung the shillings out of the hands of the poor.

Cheap and nasty maintenance would ruin them,
a common nuisance, perpetuating such unmitigated
humbug, decided opposition to the Motion.

 Row On Row, Invite Us In

He regretted the commencement of the session,
delayed his Motion, and shared the inhabitants
of the metropolis with a number of gentlemen.

The poorer classes would not be benefited;
the poorest classes had signed numerous petitions.

They are praying earnestly
without the head of Government,
for duty owing by the higher classes.

And Knock Them Down, One By One

Men high in rank had learned not to trust
envy or jealousy on the part of the poor.

Injurious to public morals, the poor would herd themselves
elsewhere, not meeting the upper classes.

It would exist in all their recollections as an imperishable monument,
and he had misrepresented the glibly renumerated learned Judge.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

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Pile of Parts

This week’s post is a poem that was featured in Pen & Quill‘s first issue, and it’s one that I actually wrote for part of my final year university coursework, so I hope you enjoy it! One of the editors, Jamie Kim, called it “A captivating poem about self-destruction and rebirth” – and you can read the rest of the editor’s comment in the issue if you’re interested! This poem does contain somewhat graphic but brief descriptions of body parts, so feel free to skip this one if that doesn’t sound like the sort of thing you want to be reading right now. But if it sounds right up your street, then here is the poem for this week!

Pile of Parts

Rip my tongue from my throat
and allow it to join the ground,
fleshy red melding with concrete.
Ply my teeth from my gums,
one by one, and let them clatter
down, dancing staccato.
Pluck my eyes from my skull,
blind me to life and breath,
and force my soul to sing again.
Turn me into a pile of parts
on the pavement, able to
create a whole, but unwilling.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my poetry collections – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

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Look At A Book: The Horse Who Fell In Scorland

As it’s release day for The Horse Who Fell In Scorland, it seems only appropriate for me to return to my ‘Look At A Book’ posts for this new arrival! If you missed it last week, here’s the link to my post with the first chapter of the book, which you can read for free. You can also read the entire eBook for free on Smashwords or buy the paperback on Amazon – links are on this page!

The Horse Who Fell In ScorlandThe Essentials

A horse-focused fantasy novella.

Genre: Fantasy

Age Range: Adult

Length: Novella

Main Character: Duke, he/him (third-person POV)

Themes: War, Monarchy, Hierarchy, Purpose, Loyalty

Excerpt

Fortunately for Duke, the end was near. The sounds of a small civilisation waking up and heading to work were carrying over to the war party on the salty breeze, and the shapes that had once lurked on the horizon began to expand into the primarily wooden buildings that formed Longharbour. It was a small town, nestled into the coast so closely that the air was thick with the scent of the sea, although the waters themselves were hidden behind houses and places of business.

The path beneath Duke’s hooves soon became solid, causing his thudding hoofsteps to become clips and clops. That sound was then echoed by the rest of the war party, much to Duke’s dismay, as the noisy crowd officially arrived in Longharbour. People poked their heads out of the windows of single-storey houses, unlike the towering structures in Greater Ardenic, and children raced alongside the horse carrying their monarch, shouting and whooping in glee at the sight. The King raised a single hand, keeping Duke’s reins tightly held in his other fist, and began to wave.

‘People of Longharbour! Loyal citizens of Ardenic! Today, this town cements its legacy into our kingdom’s history! From your shores, we shall descend onto the Scorish brutes who have terrorised you and your families, and put an end to the princeling’s senseless violence!’

It was unclear whether anyone heard all—or any—of the King’s words, but they cheered and clapped as he continued to walk Duke down Longharbour’s main road. Before long, Duke noticed spires peeking out from atop the buildings, moving gently up and down, until they finally came upon the shore.

He had never seen the sea before. Had he not been so exhausted from the long march, then Duke might’ve started at the strangeness of the waves that lapped against a wooden coast, or the huge man-made creations upon them, which had been tied to posts like cattle waiting to be shown at an auction. However, in his current state, Duke merely gave the scene a brief snort before returning his focus to wondering when his torment would finally come to an end.

The road split into two before the wooden coast: one way turned directly left, and the other right. The King turned Duke to the left, giving him a brief second to glimpse the crowd behind him. The lords and their horses were still right behind the monarch, the men’s capes now visibly bright red in the mid-morning daylight, and behind them was a train of wagons, interlocked with row upon row of Guards. Despite his best efforts, Duke did not spot Edmar before the King pulled his head away again, but he held onto the hope that the Master was somewhere behind them, or had taken passage in one of the creaking wagons.

With a grunt, the King loosened his grip on Duke’s reins as they arrived at a large building right next to the water and the wooden walkways that extended out into the sea. Tossing his head, Duke was ready to buck in excitement as he felt the King swing down from his back and shout a command behind him. A small crowd of non-armoured citizens had gathered around the procession, being warned back by the Guards as the lords also dismounted. Duke relished the sudden freedom he’d been granted, turning his head this way and that to observe all of the excitement, and not even minding the loud chatter and clanking that rang throughout the street.

Lord Maghen’s horse was still being held firmly by its owner, but Duke offered it a friendly whinny and received a pleasant reply. If the horse was feeling the same strains that Duke was, then it showed no signs of it; it stood in the street just as patiently and calmly as if it was briefly resting in a paddock, or waiting for its daily feed in a stall.

‘Edmar!’ the King cried out, as the Master appeared from within the war party, sprinting up to the monarch. ‘The harbour master was told to prepare stalls for the horses. Take Duke and Lord Maghen’s horse—ah, what did you end up calling it, Maghen?’

‘Iron, sire. She is as strong as iron, so it felt appropriate.’

‘…Iron.’ The King looked Lord Maghen up and down for a moment, then shrugged. ‘It’s certainly an interesting name, that’s for sure. Well, Edmar, take Duke and Iron to the stables and get them fed. We’re leaving as soon as I track down that harbour master and get all of these men on the ships.’

‘We also need to determine our exact route to Scorland, sire,’ Lord Maghen said.

‘Our route is across the damned ocean, Maghen. It has been determined for as long as these lands have been in existence for!’

‘My apologies, sire, I only meant that it is customary to stop at Farstone prior to arriving at Kriksea—’

‘And why would we be arriving at a busy Scorish trading port, Maghen? Do you want to throw the entire damned army into the princeling’s hands?’

The Background

I had been thinking about the concept for The Horse Who Fell In Scorland for a while before actually starting it, and I came up with a couple of beginnings and approaches before settling on the one that became this novella. Originally, I wanted this to be my third-year fiction project for the Creative Writing side of my degree, but I ended up going with a different idea for that, so The Horse Who Fell In Scorland fell into the background for a little while. However, I really wanted to tell Duke’s story, as I’d used his character for a short story a while ago and had been developing him both on and off the page ever since, so I finally sat down and got out a first draft. After a lot of time and effort, this novella is the finished result!

Is It Right For You?

While it might not be quite as dark in some places as Cicerone, my other fantasy novella, this is definitely still an adult-orientated book. It would probably also help if you like horses, because you’ll be following Duke’s perspective throughout most of the novella, with only slight blips here and there for the purposes of the narrative. This isn’t a fantasy book with magic, either; it’s more of a medieval alternate-world deal instead, focusing on the frosty relations between two close-by countries: Ardenic and Scorland.

You can check out the eBook for free and let me know what you think!

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my other books – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support a young author!)

The Horse Who Fell In Scorland – Chapter One

I have to say, it’s a bit of a strange feeling not releasing another Chained Soul chapter – that novel has dominated the blog since November 2023, but I’ve got another bit of fiction you might be interested in today. My fantasy novella The Horse Who Fell In Scorland is releasing next Wednesday, on the 10th of July, so I thought I’d treat you to a little sneak peek of the book with this first chapter!

Chapter One – The King’s Prized Possession

It had been nine years since the King last sat on Duke’s back, pushing his silver-trimmed boots into stirrups that had been polished to perfection by a young stable boy.

That young stable boy was now Master Edmar of the Royal Stables, who ordered his own troop of bright-eyed, scruffy-haired stable boys to sweep and scrub every inch of the endless stalls and tack rooms. They were the pride of Greater Ardenic, which itself was both the most beloved county and capital city of the King’s great kingdom of Ardenic. The Royal Stables housed every horse under the royal banner, from the intimidating, muscled steeds used by the King’s Guard to the elegant creatures that pulled the monarch’s carriage.

The jewel in this equestrian crown was, of course, Duke. As a yearling, he’d caught the King’s eye at a run-of-the-mill auction, at a time when the monarch had no desire for a new mount. In times of peace, he took the royal carriage from place to place, showing his grizzled face for an hour here and there to inspire healthy doses of awe and fear into Greater Ardenic’s citizens. However, something about Duke had captivated him: his pure-white coat gave way only for the soft pink of his nostrils and muzzle, and even at his young age, his strides were strong and purposeful across the auction pen.

When the King declared his bid, no one dared to raise a hand against him. What could a lowly farmer or even a lord offer against the wealth of the entire kingdom? Therefore, Duke was purchased at the relatively low starting price of five gold coins, and he was led right up to the palace gates behind the royal carriage.

For two long years, Duke lived in complete, uninterrupted bliss. He was fed the best quality grains, hay, and fruits that the kingdom could provide, groomed until every single one of his white hairs shone, and exercised lightly around the palace grounds, often by the young stable boy Edmar himself.

At that time, Edmar was a lanky youth, still growing into the limbs that seemed to sprout off his body like the long branches of a very short tree. The Master reprimanded him most often for the way that his shaggy mop of hair, suitably the colour of most barks found in the forests around Greater Ardenic, relentlessly fell into his eyes. It seemed to be the Master’s opinion that the King would go into quite the fit if he saw one hair out of place on Edmar’s head, although Edmar himself had never seen even the slightest hint of this from the King himself.

He did see the monarch quite often, however, despite his low status. In that earlier stage of Duke’s life, the King often visited his stall, asking the Master of the Royal Stables at the time anxiously about when it would be time for breaking in the new colt. The Master assured him that not rushing the process would be best to ensure that Duke grew into a sound stallion, but it was difficult to continue to refuse the King regarding his newest prized possession.

Fortunately for the Master, the day soon came when it was time to get a saddle on young Duke’s back, and it took him just one month to confidently trot and canter while being ridden, often with a slightly older Edmar on his back. The young man was finally coming into his grown body at this point, and the troublesome hair was shorn like a sheep’s woollen coat at regular intervals throughout the year.

Once the Master was confident in Duke’s abilities, he sent for the monarch and gathered his stable boys around the wooden-fenced pen used for training the royal horses. It was the type of blistering summer day when the horizon seemed to waver and paths bent awkwardly in the distance, as if attempting to skive from their duties by altering their destinations. The heat of the sandy ground inside the pen combined with the odd sensation of Duke’s newly-shod hooves caused him to toss his head more than usual as Edmar led him around the enclosed area.

Presently, the King arrived with an entourage of Royal Guards, no doubt sweating heavily inside their shining armour, emblazoned with the red and blue crest of the Kingdom of Ardenic. All of the collected stable boys and the Master dropped to their knees, and Duke stomped his hoof in surprise as Edmar sank into the sand next to him. He stared down the King as he strode into the pen, dressed in much lighter chain armour than that which the Guards had to bear.

All throughout his time at the Royal Stables, Duke had noticed that the King’s appearance, unlike Edmar’s, had not been changed by time. His expression was always gruff, even when he smiled, and his greying hair seemed to be fighting a constantly losing battle with his scalp. Faint lines travelled across his face, only seen properly in the direct sunlight. He may have been broader than Edmar, but the youth was quickly gaining on him in height, and yet neither could hold a candle to Duke’s lofty stature.

Despite this challenge, the monarch wasted no time in grabbing Duke’s reins from Edmar and tossing them over his head, causing him to still. Edmar jogged to the fence and clambered over, watching the scene with wide eyes.

In this moment, Duke cared little for the sour-faced man fumbling to get his foot into one of his stirrups. He had no knowledge of kings, kingdoms or politics; he knew he was far more comfortable here than he had been at the stable he grew up in, but he had sorely missed being by his mother’s side for the first few years. In his mind, the Master was the most dominant man in his life. The boy, Edmar, was always rushing to refill his water or pick out his hooves, and the Master only had to bark out a single word for Edmar to scurry away to his side. Therefore, the hierarchy had the Master at the top, Edmar at the bottom, and Duke… Well, he liked to think of himself as somewhere in-between, despite the fact that he was often at the end of a rope that Edmar was holding.

This new man, who had finally stuck his foot into the stirrup and was beginning to swing his large body up onto Duke’s back, had barely involved himself with Duke’s care. The horse had a vague memory of him inspecting his teeth and hooves and so forth at the auction, but since that time he had only ever looked over Duke, without lifting a finger to actually look after him.

So, when the King landed fully in the saddle, Duke thought nothing of his status or his power. Instead, he started wildly, trying to wrestle the weight from his back—the King was far heavier than Edmar, and a frantic fight for control ensued. The King snatched up the reins and Duke pulled his head forwards roughly. As the monarch cried out, the reins flew from his grip, and a final buck from Duke deposited him firmly in the sand.

‘You’re a wild one, eh?’ the King said, picking himself up and raising a hand towards the advancing Guards. ‘I’m not a delicate flower, men. Not like that princeling over the water.’

The gathered crowd chuckled politely. Duke flattened his ears, taking a step back from the King as he approached him once again. Undaunted, the King gathered the reins, remounted, and continued the battle for dominance.

The sun had lowered into a dark golden blaze of an afternoon by the time Duke allowed the King to stay on his back. He paced back and forth and shook his head every time the King tried to turn him this way and that, but the hierarchy had been set in place. Still not knowing that his rider was royalty, Duke understood that the King was somehow above the Master in terms of dominance. He may not have been stronger than the horse, but he certainly had more perseverance than Duke cared to match.

‘He’ll be a stunning war horse, sire,’ the Master said from the other side of the fence. The stable boys nodded and quietly spoke in agreement.

‘This one has the courage to fight his own king—he’ll charge on an army in a heartbeat,’ the King chuckled. ‘If only I had a battlefield for him!’

‘I think we’re all enjoying these times of peace well enough, sire, even Duke,’ the Master replied. ‘I don’t think the kingdom has ever been more prosperous, if I may say so.’

‘Times will change, Isiah. They always do. These lads will grow up and tower over old men like us, and even that princeling will come of age. My sons will war with Scorland and expand the reaches of Ardenic until it is all the eye can see, and further still. War is prosperous in land, even if it stretches the treasury in the meantime. Gold will return—land, that is what stays for generations. Ardenic is my legacy.’

The Master only nodded in response, sending Edmar into the pen as the King dismounted. Duke had never been happier to return to his stall, basking in the attention and feed that the stable boy showered him with.

‘You can’t be throwing kings off your back, Duke,’ the boy said, mocking seriousness before shaking his head with a chuckle. ‘If you was a man, you’d get your head lopped off for treason or something. But with you being a horse, you get the best bed in this entire stable and me at your beck and call. It’s a funny world, ain’t it?’

Duke busied himself with munching on hay, letting the boy natter away. He hurried off to put away the saddle and bridle Duke had been wearing all day, then returned with an assortment of brushes to ensure that the King’s prized horse was looking his best, as he always had to be.

‘At least you won’t have to carry him around too much,’ the boy continued. ‘It’s not like he ever rides anywhere any more. Unless he goes mad and tries to kill that kid who’s in charge of Scorland, I reckon you’ll have a right comfortable life until… Well, I can’t talk about that, I guess. Treason and all. But you won’t mind the princes either, I don’t think. Mirfen’ll be the next one on the throne, and I won’t make any bets on what he’s gonna do about that Scorish prince, but maybe you’ll finally see some action then.’

Duke settled down to sleep that night and woke to a slightly changed routine. Rather than the gentler exercise he was used to, being led about to this and that place and let free in a paddock every once in a while, he was taken out on rides by Edmar and schooled in making quick movements and practising his gaits in the exercising pen. However, the King didn’t return to the stables, and Duke’s quiet life continued.

After several years, the Master stepped down from his position and Edmar was promoted in his place, but aside from his steadily increasing height and newfound ability to command the younger stable boys, Duke didn’t notice any changes. His stall was separated from most of the others in the Royal Stables, but he would occasionally see the nearby doors opening and their occupants being led out to their different jobs; all the while, he thought himself fairly lucky to live in such comfort and have to do next to nothing for it.

However, by the time that nine years had passed, Duke had fallen into the habit of thinking that there must have been something special about him that had caused this easy life. He compared himself to the brief glimpses of swishing tails and tossed manes that he saw, and often the skinny frames of horses pulling farmers’ carts that he and Edmar passed on their rides. Surely not all horses could have been created equal, if they had landed in their positions and he had landed in his. He was constantly groomed to perfection and given just the right amount of exercise to keep his muscles toned and ready for action, but that action never came. While all other horses appeared to be intended for work, he was instead dedicated for show—and only for the few select people who saw him each day.

As such, Duke thought nothing of the echoing footsteps trampling down the main corridor of the stable on that day, nine years after the King managed to tame him and then promptly abandoned him to Edmar’s care. He heard clunking metal and thought of the Guards, whose stone-faced steeds could bring a riot to a halt with a simple glare and a stamp of a feathered hoof. But the sounds continued for far too long, and became louder and louder until he turned around in his stall, rather annoyed at the intrusion to his nap, and came face to face with the man who he’d thrown from his back countless times all those years ago.

‘Edmar, get him saddled!’ the man shouted. ‘The time has come.’

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Chained Soul – Part Twenty-Nine

This is the last part of Chained Soul that is going to be released on my blog, Tapas and Wattpad. There is one more part after this, but I’ve decided it’s best to save that for Chained Soul’s official ebook and paperback release, so I hope you enjoy the penultimate part of Robbie’s story! Quick warning: this series does contain strong language, so if that’s not your thing, you’re free to skip this one!

Check out Part One, including a synopsis for the whole series, here!

If you missed Part Twenty-Eight, you can read that here!

Day Twenty-Nine

I don’t want to write down any of the shit that went on in that assessment room. I don’t think I can. Every time I pick up the pen to try and write down even a sentence about it, my hand starts to shake. I can try to work around it. I’ll write the stuff that seems normal, or at least half-normal, but I can’t get the other shit down.

A pair of guards came for me. Kathy wasn’t there. When they took me out of the room, I looked at the door for the room next to mine – you know, where Helen was. It was slightly ajar, and what I could see inside was empty, but I swear to God there was a red mark on the floor, and one on the doorframe. They weren’t handprints or anything like that, just smudges, but I swear they were there.

I asked the guards who used to be in the room. They didn’t answer. They didn’t really say anything to me the entire time. I didn’t ask again.

They walked me through the corridor, which was as busy as ever, maybe more so. No one looked at me except the guards – they wouldn’t take their eyes off me for a second. My hands were tied behind my back like they were when they took me outside, and to that failed group session thing. We didn’t go in any direction I’d been in those other two times.

It was a long walk. The corridors got less busy, then more busy, then we got to a set of stairs and went down them, and I was really thinking that they were going to take me to some basement and shoot me in the head and be done with the whole thing. I mean, they clearly did something fucked up to Helen. I saw blood. I know I saw blood.

That was one of the things they asked me about. I’m getting ahead of myself, but Helen was the only thing I could think about when they asked that question. Have you had any contact with any other patients during your time in the facility? I suppose I would’ve had contact with the group session patients if it had actually happened, so I spent that time just talking about that and how seeing someone else be violent freaked me out. It didn’t really, but I thought they might like to hear that. That I don’t like violence. The sight of it.

Or the sound of Helen being beaten and dragged from her room.

Down the stairs, anyway. We went down the stairs, and the air was kinda colder, which I guess makes sense. Everything looked pretty much the same. There were no windows upstairs, and none down on this basement floor, obviously. It was quieter. There were still a couple of people in white coats flitting around, and guards. I didn’t see any other patients.

They put me in this small room, the same room that I’m in now. It’s just a box, smaller than the other one, and there’s no toilet or sink or anything. A literal square. The door doesn’t have a flap for food and there’s no furniture. No fancy bullshit computer. After I came back, I found my stuff in here. Clothes. Pen. Paper. They probably couldn’t be bothered reading it. Thank fuck for that.

I actually don’t know how long I was kept waiting here before they came and got me. It felt like hours, but time can fuck with you. Might’ve just been ten minutes. I’ve got no way of knowing. But the same two guards came back, and then took me to this… other room.

This is where I… I struggle with this bit. I struggle even thinking about it. There was a screen. I’m not gonna say what was on the screen. My head and my fingers got hooked up to this… thing, and it was like some sci-fi Frankenstein sorta shit. I half-expected some aliens to walk in and start probing me.

Then… yeah. I got through it. I’m sorry. I can’t fucking say the shit that happened, but I went in that room and then I came out, and I didn’t see Kathy, or any other psychologist person. None of the people in white coats even looked at me. It was just those two fucking guards.

They brought me back here and I spent a good hour just sitting still, staring at the wall, biting my knuckles. Then I stopped because I didn’t want them to think I was crazy and throw me back in the other room. This is my route to freedom, after all. That’s what Kathy said.

I get it now, though. What Kathy was saying, and Helen. I get it. I still don’t fucking know why I’m here, but I guess I could have a guess. It can’t be true, though. It can’t be. I don’t know. I’m just waiting, now. I don’t even know if I passed the fucking assessment. There was no score at the end; no one appeared to tell me ‘congrats, now get the fuck out of here’. Just nothing. The door opened and the guards unhooked me and pulled me out.

I think I’m still in shock.

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Chained Soul – Part Twenty-Eight

Welcome back to Chained Soul, my new serialised novel that I’m releasing right here on my blog, as well as on Tapas and Wattpad. Quick warning: this series does contain strong language, so if that’s not your thing, you’re free to skip this one!

Check out Part One, including a synopsis for the whole series, here!

If you missed Part Twenty-Seven, you can read that here!

Day Twenty-Eight

It’s happening. I know I’m going to be all over the place writing this, especially after whatever the fuck went on yesterday, but I have to get it down before – well, before I can’t, I guess.

I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if I’ll be coming back here. I’ve got this image in my head of being given a suitcase to pack everything into. I don’t know why. I don’t even know if I own a suitcase.

I probably don’t.

But she came in today, looking all nervous and fidgeting and all that, and she spent a few minutes just pacing around and looking everywhere before she said anything. I’ll get it down like I usually do, even though I feel like everything is going to very quickly become not like it usually is.

Conversation With Kathy

-as I’ve said, she’s been pacing around for a good few minutes by this point, and now she finally sits on the bed and composes herself a bit-

Her: It’s today.

Me: The assessment? We’re going now?

Her: Yes, but not yet. I can’t come with you.

Me: What do you mean? I thought you were my nominated shrink-whatsit-thing?

Her: That doesn’t mean I come to the assessment with you. You’ll be escorted there by two members of the security team, and then the assessment hub has its own staff.

Me: Am I going to get locked in another room and go through this whole thing again?

Her: No, no. It should only last a few hours. The assessment itself is about an hour, depending on how you do. There’ll be some bureaucracy once you get there – signing you in, double-checking everything – and then a bit of a wait depending on if there’s any free rooms or not. But once you’ve got through it – if you get through it – then everything should be pretty quick. They’ll want you out as soon as possible.

Me: And I suppose you’re still not telling me anything about what the assessment’s like?

Her: I wish I could.

Me: And I guess I won’t see you again afterwards?

Her: In all likelihood, no. I specifically work within this section of the facility, so I’ll be assigned to another case within here.

Me: Well, thanks, I guess.

Her: Just see if you get through the assessment first. Give it your best shot – whatever you think they want, do that, not what you actually want. It’ll… it’ll all make sense, once you get in there.

There wasn’t much more after that. She left. I didn’t even think to ask her about Helen – I don’t want her thinking I’m crazy and turning against me. I’m almost certain Helen was real, but if it turns out she wasn’t then I can’t have it fuck up my only chance to get out of here. I need to get out. I can’t stay here. I can’t deal with the pills and the slop and the monotony and confusion and just the horribleness of it all.

I know it could be worse. I could be being tortured or all sorts of other nasty shit. But this isn’t right either, especially when I can’t even fucking remember what I did to get in here, if I did anything at all. That’d be fucked – if I remembered everything and I was innocent, framed for something or some shit like that. I’d fucking hate that. I mean, I hate being in here anyway, but that would be so much worse.

Kathy said it’d be today, though, so now I’m just sat on the edge of the bed, trying to get this down quick enough that I’m not writing when they come to get me. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m in for with this assessment thing, but fuck it! It’s time now, and I’ve just gotta bullshit my way through it.

I’m hoping it’s something really tame and boring like a multiple choice quiz with questions like ‘do you want to go on a mass killing spree or have a nice picnic with your family?’, shit like that. I know it won’t be. Not from how Helen and Kathy have been talking about it. It’s got to be something awful.

But it’ll get me out. That’s the only thing I need to focus on. Getting out of here and finally being free again, maybe getting some memories back inside this skull of mine so that I can figure out what happened and move on with my life. Do some actual healing, not whatever the fuck they think they’re doing here.

It’s happening. It’s happening. I know it is. There’s footsteps and voices outside. There’s always footsteps and voices outside, but this time they’re concentrated around the door. It has to be. If this is just the slop being delivered then I’ll… I don’t know what I’ll fucking do. Probably just sit here and be disappointed.

Yes! Yes! They’re knocking.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my other books – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support a young author!)

Chained Soul – Part Twenty-Seven

Welcome back to Chained Soul, my new serialised novel that I’m releasing right here on my blog, as well as on Tapas and Wattpad. Quick warning: this series does contain strong language, so if that’s not your thing, you’re free to skip this one!

Check out Part One, including a synopsis for the whole series, here!

If you missed Part Twenty-Six, you can read that here!

Day Twenty-Seven

Kathy hasn’t come in yet today. I don’t know if she will. I don’t know if she did the report too late – what if she forgot to send it in? She doesn’t seem like the type of person to forget about something like that, especially not with how wound up she was about it all. But maybe that was the problem – people forget things when they’re stressed, right?

Maybe that’s why I can’t remember anything. To be fair, I’ve been pretty consistently fucking stressed since I’ve been in here. You can’t blame me, but I guess it’s also not going to be helpful for trying to… do whatever I’m supposed to be doing.

I’m not recovering – like, how the fuck am I meant to recover from something when I don’t know what it is? I think the only goal I’ve been trying to go towards is getting out of here, and maybe getting at least some of my memories back. Just trying to figure out what’s going on and why I’m here.

Huh. If you took that out of context then it’d sound really fucking philosophical. But it’s not. It’s just me going round and round in my head, trying to knock something loose. I’d honestly try banging my head against the wall if I wasn’t meant to be on my best behaviour.

And that’d probably hurt. I learned my lesson from banging on the door, however long ago that was.

Wait.

It was twenty-seven days ago, wasn’t it? Because I’ve numbered this thing. Jesus, I’m getting stupid in here. Or maybe I was always stupid. I guess I have no idea. Wouldn’t it be something if I was a PhD-having know-it-all? But then I guess I’d be smart enough to not get thrown in here in the first place.

Unless it was a properly organised thing. And I mean government conspiracy sort of level. I know Kathy said there was a trial or something, and that means I was in court. So they got me on some sort of charge. But it might’ve all been a set-up. Or maybe I was being an expert for a trial or something and then did something stupid and got held in that contempt thing.

I’m not going to be a mega-intelligent expert, am I? Fuck, I can keep dreaming though. I could be an expert at something really, really specific, like… jeez, I can’t even think of anything. Smells, or something. No, what the fuck am I thinking? You don’t have evidence of smells. It’s all fingerprints and scraps of fabric and skin under fingernails and stuff. Maybe I’m a fingernail expert.

No, that just sounds weird.

And it hasn’t ‘unlocked’ anything. My memories are as far away as ever. I keep going over the conversation with my mum and the memory of the kid in the supermarket – the image of all the sick everywhere makes me shudder every time – but I just can’t link them, or come up with any new ones. There has to be a thousand scenes that fill the gaps between them, but I’ve lost them all.

I’m not ruling out that they brainwashed me. That would explain everything. Or that the drugs are keeping my memories away. Or that they did something so traumatic to me that my brain just refuses to remember it. It might not be my brain’s fault.

On the other hand, it could completely be my brain’s fault. Neither of those would surprise me too much, to be-

Hang on.

Some Very Alarming Shouting Through The Wall

-so I’m writing down the bit that’s above this bit, but then there’s some sort of bang and a load of screaming through the wall, so I jump up and start panicking because that’s where Helen is and she’d been going on about all that conspiracy doom-and-gloom stuff the last time we spoke, and I basically glue myself to the wall trying to make out the words-

Her: Get out! I won’t let you do it! I won’t!

Someone: -muffled words that are a lot quieter than Helen-

Her: You can’t do this! It’s illegal!

Someone: -some more equally quiet words that aren’t fucking helpful in the slightest-

Her: I’ll kill you before I let you take me!

Someone: (much louder) Stop that! Put that down!

-here, there’s another bang, and some more shouting and sort of wordless screaming, which is obviously all quite concerning, but I can’t fucking do anything because Kathy seems to think I’m on the brink of getting out of here and I can’t risk banging or screaming myself in case that chance goes away-

Her: I’ll get out! I’ll tell everyone what’s happening here!

Someone: Stop now, or we will use force!

Her: Like that’s ever stopped you!

I don’t think there’s much more point in me trying to write down the words now, because I can’t hear any of them properly. Helen screams, something bangs, then there’s shouting from whoever’s trying to do whatever they’re trying to do with her. It must be one of the guard-looking people. Or a psychologist, I guess.

It’s happening. I can’t do anything to stop it, and acknowledging it feels bleak as fuck, but Helen was right. They’re doing something. They could be getting rid of her, or moving her to some tiny box where she can hardly sit or stand, or doing who the fuck knows what. They can do anything they want in here, I guess.

I’ve never had a visitor. I can’t talk to my mum. How would I tell anyone what’s happening here? Even if they did let me send emails as well as receive them, they’d probably be so heavily censored that they’d be useless. I’m stuck here and I can’t do anything or tell anyone about it.

And now she’s screaming, but the sound is moving. I’m trying to follow it across the wall. I’m trying to hold onto her even though I’m too scared to say anything, even to whisper anything.

A door bangs shut, and everything is quiet again.

If you enjoyed this, click here to check out some of my other books – free ebooks available as well as print books on Amazon!

(You can also tip me on my Ko-Fi page if you’d like to support a young author!)