Kneel Downe's Blog: For Who Howls the Wolf?, page 3

Anthology - Betrayed Again

In March we asked for entries to a charity anthology where the theme was STOLEN. Kneel Downe's Stolen Indie Anthology will be published on 20th May but we wanted to share some of the entries here on the website too, whether or not they made it into the new book. Here's Betrayed Again by AJ Huffman...
I no longer desire
to be of flesh.
I prefer something else.
Something unconfined.
I want to step outside of myself.
And into more
that just your borrowed shell.
All ready and all hollow.
I know that setting well enough.
I demand to step higher.
Beyond wings and water.
I want to feel the air.
Burning behind me.
But how can I reach this?
When bliss can be bought
and stolen.
By the solemn demands
of your kiss.



A.J. Huffman has published twelve full-length poetry collections, thirteen solo poetry chapbooks and one joint poetry chapbook through various small presses. Her most recent releases, Degeneration (Pink Girl Ink), A Bizarre Burning of Bees (Transcendent Zero Press), and Familiar Illusions (Flutter Press) are now available from their respective publishers. She is a five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of Net nominee, and has published over 2500 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, The Bookends Review, Bone Orchard, Corvus Review, EgoPHobia, and Kritya. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. www.kindofahurricanepress.com.

Cover Image created by Trev Bartlett

Anthology - Mother's Reiver

In March we asked for entries to a charity anthology where the theme was STOLEN. Kneel Downe's Stolen Indie Anthology will be published on 20th May but we wanted to share some of the entries here on the website too. Here's Mother's Reiver by The Wolf's Paw...
Miasmic pools of gelatinous ooze,
Glinting brightly in the dawn;
Seeping slowly home to Mother.

The Magpie sits, whittles wood,
Waiting, hoping, yearning for
Movement or a crack of a twig,
So the cycle can continue.

Collecting the warm, watching as it cools;
Melting beneath Mother’s Hand
Feeding her black, foetid heart;
Gorging on the sunshine once created.

The Magpie stops, listens, watches.

A chance approaches close at hand;
Coaxing words distract, confuse;
A breath purloined returns to the sky.

Mother feasts, another pool begins.


Twitter : @Wolfpaw36
Website : http://wolfspaw.blogspot.co.uk/

Kneel Downe's Stolen Indie Anthology Book Cover Winner

Voila! By a unanimous decision of the judges here is the cover that will grace the front of Kneel Downe's Stolen Indie Anthology...
You may remember way back in March we asked for submissions to an Anthology for charity that had the theme of Stolen. Well, we weren't just looking for written entries as we wanted a cover design for it too. Having sifted through the myriad of entries we received, the judges all agreed that this one by Trev Bartlett stood out among the rest. We think you'll agree it's eye catching and rebelliously punkish, much like Kneel himself in fact.

Not content with just announcing the cover, the final decisions have also been made on the fifteen stories/poems that will be included in the Anthology.  In no particular order (and the order may be different in the book) we have:

Karma Gang - Adam Wimbush
The Rort - Tarquin Carlin
Seeing Red - Ruth Sabath Rosenthal
With Fire - A.J. Huffman
We Should Have Met - Denise Sutton
No Fuckin' Losing: NFL - C. Z. Heyward
Mother's Reiver - Ian Foulger
Is There a Sunrise? - Steve Taylor-Bryant
Deviant, Suggestible, Creative - Neil Vogler
Sauce Code - Marc Nash
Notifications - Chris Limb
The Bruises Don't Show, My Sweet - Stephen McQuiggan
Midnight Thief - Adam Levon Brown
Yokai Girl - Lacie Grayson
A Found Elegy/To Do Lists from My 98 Year Old Mother the Month Before She Died - Nancy L Meyer

All these and several more that didn't quite make it into the book itself will appear here on the website in due course and Kneel Downe's Stolen Anthology will be published on 20th May with all profits going to the children's cancer charity childrenwithcancer.org.uk

Anthology - DEVIANT, SUGGESTIBLE, CREATIVE

In March we asked for entries to a charity anthology where the theme was STOLEN. Kneel Downe's Stolen Indie Anthology will be published on 20th May but we wanted to share some of the entries here on the website too. This is Deviant, Suggestible, Creative by Neil Vogler...
Leroy tells me they’re putting something in the employees' coffee and stealing all our dreams. When I ask him politely what the hell he’s talking about, he explains that the coffee is laced with a strain of patented neuro-active nanites that, once absorbed into your body, can enter your brain, read your mind, uncover your dreams and then broadcast those dreams to a secure location, where they’ll be kept for all time in a searchable government database run by a crack team of scanners and specialists.

Leroy has personality, I’ll give him that. And he does make break times more entertaining.

‘Okay,’ I say, spreading my hands and shrugging. ‘But really, what’s the point?’

Leroy’s puffy face becomes seriously animated. ‘The point? The point is that they’re harvesting ideas, man. They’re sucking up raw, unfiltered creativity at the source, and denying you access to that most personal of all things: your dreams. All the stuff that makes your soul sing. The very essence of what makes you you. That’s what they want. That’s what they’re hoovering up.’

‘Uh… huh.’ I take a sip of my coffee, pointedly.

‘Yeah, right, you doubt me. Just answer me this, Con: since you started working here, can you remember a single dream you’ve had?’

I’m about to tell him that I’ve never been the sort to dream much anyway when the klaxon sounds, and everybody automatically stands up and starts drifting towards the entrance to the shopfloor.

As everyone else files in through the entrance, I stay at the table and finish the rest of my coffee.

* 
Next break, Leroy’s back, this time munching a packet of beef flavour crisps and swilling tea. Then, between intermittent bites and sips, he lights up a cigarette. Eventually he gets quite a rhythm going.

‘Can’t believe they let us smoke here, in the canteen,’ he says. ‘Surely it’s illegal.’

I grin. ‘Same with everything in this place. Not quite as it should be.’

‘Yeah! Too right, too right.’

‘Your tea not laced with that nanite stuff too?’

At this, Leroy smiles lopsidedly and holds up his cup. ‘No way. This is my own brew, Con. Came out of a thermos, from my very own home, filtered and pure.’

‘Just enlighten me, I’m curious. So they’re stealing our dreams. Once the government have them, what then?’

‘What then?’ his chunky but amiable features twitch, and he puts his cigarette down in a circular silver ashtray. ‘They have algorithms crawling the dreampool, looking for the germs of ideas, for innovations that the dreamer isn’t even consciously aware of yet. They also look for signs of subversion and deviancy, screening our dream output for revolutionary thoughts and images. The ideas and innovations are theoretically matured by specialist programs, and those that show promise are released down the line as state-sanctioned developments. Destructive innovations are prioritised, of course. I mean, shit. That’s why we have some of the best weapons in the world to sell.’

I blink. ‘And what about those deviants and subversives they’ve discovered?’

Leroy makes a sort of Psssh sound. ‘Monitored, at best. Sometimes they’re befriended by covert state influencers and manipulated or coerced into servitude. At worst, they’re disappeared, with the disappearances made to look like accidents.’

I laugh at him. ‘Jesus, Leroy. You make the serious paranoids I’ve met look laid back.’

‘It’s the truth,’ he insists, a faraway expression suddenly on his face. ‘I know it.’

A smirk stays on my lips. ‘Pass me one of those cigarettes, you weirdo,’ I say.

The klaxon bursts into life, and Leroy jerks up in his seat. Back to the grind.

* 
Leroy doesn’t know, of course. At least, not consciously. None of this is real. None of this is happening in what he knows as the ‘real’ world. This isn’t an authentic canteen. Shit, if he looked up, if it occurred to him and he let himself see it, he’d realise there isn’t even a roof. There’s just the visual representation of the dataflow.

You see, Leroy’s right. About most of it, anyway. They are stealing and monitoring people’s dreams. They are mining them for ideas and innovations. They are screening for signs of deviancy.

I mean, what rational government with the means to do so wouldn’t?

Leroy? He’s been deemed DSC, or Deviant, Suggestible, Creative. And with DSC candidates, they handle them efficiently. They simply put them in a specially-induced medical coma, pump them full of a patented neuro-cocktail, and make them dream 24/7 until their brain fails. Normally, because of the strength of the wildly potent drugs involved, it takes two weeks before total shutdown occurs.

We’re at day thirteen, currently.

And me? My name’s Con. It’s not short for Connor, as Leroy thinks. It’s Convincer. I’m a Convincer program. I sit inside the subconscious and converse with Leroy anytime his mind falls out of the dream state and threatens to try and order itself.

It’s a funny thing. We’ve found that the way to keep DSCs dreaming and harvestable is to present them with someone who sceptically listens to their paranoid-sounding conspiracies. By virtue of my reassuring presence and continuous questioning, I reinforce his view that this is an authentic place, and the conspiracy he imagines is going on somewhere else, and is not happening to him. Then he goes back to work on the ‘shopfloor’, and dreams himself to death as fast as we can arrange it.

He’s given them quite a bit, Leroy. He had some streaks of genius, apparently, layered in underneath all those levels of awkwardness and neurosis.

It’s funny. Even the idea for my own program’s existence was harvested from a human’s dream. Without the process, I wouldn’t exist, and we wouldn’t be able to do what we do so efficiently.

Human minds. You are all strange, and wonderful, and creative, and oh so terribly easy to fool.

Dare to dream, as they say. Dare to dream.

Find Neil on Twitter at @NeilVogler and see his other books on Amazon

VirulentBlurb: Virellas Cover Reveal

Yesterday on social media, this cover was revealed as the front of the upcoming VirulentBlurb Book. What do you think?

Anthology - Is There a Sunrise?

In March we asked for entries to a charity anthology where the theme was STOLEN. Kneel Downe's Stolen Indie Anthology will be published on 20th May but we wanted to share some of the entries here on the website too. This is Is There a Sunrise by Steve Taylor-Bryant...
As delicate as life is
It seems only the strong survive
The weak crumble
As the pressure is left alive
Some look to the heavens
Others are stuck in the tar
I'm caught in the middle
Wondering if there's a sunrise on Mars

The inane spout their evil
The religious their lore
I'm not sure that I
Can take it anymore
We confront the gift horse
It's just who we are
Is there a sunrise on Mars?

We take the intellectual property
Without knowing what that means
Our life's plan
Is coming apart at the seams
We bully the new breed
It's just who we are
Is there a sunrise on Mars?

The key to our times
Is how we live our lives
Stealing hope
As we sharpen our knives
Feeding on the fear
It's just who we are
Is there a sunrise on Mars?

Find Steve on Twitter at @STBWrites

Short Story - JELLIES

Do you remember the Jellies?...
Nah...I suppose not. You're probably too young, but believe me, for about twelve months there you couldn't turn on your feed or watch the VidChannels without seeing the things.

And on the streets? Seemed you couldn't walk a block without passing another of those shiny new booths. Identical. Tempting. Everywhere.

The latest fad. The next big thing. Another distraction for the bored and rich and feckless.

And that annoying fucking jingle..."You've not been clean till you've JELLY BEEN!"

What were they? Fuck knows, I'm not a doctor...but like I said, they were everywhere. Some people said they'd been bred by the guys in the white suits. Other people whispered that they 'came from somewhere else'. But one thing was sure. They were here and boy were they big business.

You ask me? They missed a beat there. Sure they made a fortune but if some bright spark had farmed them out as pets then they would have been billionaires. I mean my daughter, Jenny, she was forever banging on about wanting one. Truth be told you could see why. They were kinda cute. Each one about the size of your thumbnail. Tiny little blobs of glowing colour and man I mean glowing. Neon. Dazzling. All the colours of the rainbow. Red, Yellow, Blue, Green...every colour you could imagine. Some of them had weird ass little wings. Some had tentacles. But all of them had the suckers. Guess that was their job after all, huh?

So...I saved my spare credits for months. My wife had been dropping those hints, y'know the ones? The wife hints. Anyhow, on her birthday I presented her with a voucher for a Full Cleanse. It was worth it. Shoulda seen her face.

But the thing was. When we drove to the Booth it was boarded up and vacant. Same thing everywhere. All vanished overnight. Nothing in the news or the feeds. Just gone.

Do you remember the Jellies?

What happened to them?




Welcome to your FULL ALPHA CLEANSE and thank you for choosing to be part of The JELLY REVOLUTION.

The process is totally pain free and immensely relaxing.

Standing or sitting Booths are available depending on your personal requirements, please state your preference to your helpful assistants.

Upon entering the chamber your assistant will make sure you are comfortable and then seal the dock around your neck. Be calm, the seal is comfortable and will not cause you any discomfort. Jellies can not survive in our environment and require the right balance of gasses to perform their task.

Upon the release of Jellies into your chamber you will feel a tickling sensation. This is the Jellies commencing their task. Do not be alarmed. Soon you will experience the sensual and relaxing sensation of a Full Body Cleanse as the Jellies remove all the built up dead skin and deep clogged dirt that conventional cleaning products can not reach.

It is not necessary to wear underwear in the chamber although you may if you wish.

Some users report heightened sexuality during the process. This is quite normal and we suggest you relax and enjoy the ride!

REMEMBER: THE FACE SHOULD NEVER BE IMMERESED IN THE CHAMBER. This is for your safety as well as the Jellies.

And all wounds or abrasions must be reported prior to immersion in order for adequate and safe dressings to be applied.

And so...Please place your voucher in the slot, wait for your Personal Assistant and prepare yourself for an experience like no other on Earth.

ENJOY!




Paula's got a date. Paula's got a hot date. At 8.30 tonight she's finally hooking up with John from Accounts.

Paula's bought fancy things. Frilly things. Things with lace and VibroMesh.

Paula's had her hair sculptured and her pupils shined.

Paula's bought two small phials of Phermonica. Dusk and Sleaze.

John's not gonna know what's hit him. Poor thing.

And now Paula's getting the Cleanse. First time for her, hell this shit ain’t cheap but John's worth it.

John better be worth it.

The Assistant smiles kindly at her as he leads her through to the Chamber Room.

"Relax." He says.

Paula tries to relax and digs her nails into her palms like she did when she was a kid. Her pretty newly painted nails.

Her sharp, pretty nails.

Neither of them notices the droplet of blood. Crimson betrayal.

"Here we go." He says, as he locks the seal around her neck. "You're gonna dig this."

And with a gentle hiss of hydraulics he releases the Jellies.

IT FEELS LIKE:

Nibbling. Sucking. Probing. Stroking. Massaging. Tickling. Warm. Cool. Hot. Close. And when they begin cleaning 'down there' Paula closes her eyes and dreams of exploding stars.

She ignores the itch on her palm.

Her pretty, clean palm.




At 5.30pm Paula places a call to The Med Service...

As Follows:

"Hello? Hello?........I need help."

"What is the nature of your emergency?"

"Sick. Being sick...I can't stop. Hours now and I..."

"Hello? What kind of sickness?"

"Blue. It's solid and singing like a noise or a wing...I mean a, er...help me. I can smell things. Dark things like Buddha said. ........hold on....who is this?"

"Is there anyone with you? Someone I could speak to?"

"Hahahahahahahahahahaha.......I'm YELLOW now! I mean REALLY FUCKING YELLOW. Can you hear me glowing? Can you. My mother. Is that you Daddy? Who is this? What do I want? Why are you barking at me?"

"Hello?"

"I've gotta go now...Jesus told me to hang up...I can hear him in my eyes....Are these your eyes?"

"Hello?"




23 days later.
The people from the Company are here. Three of them. Two men in immaculate black suits. White shirts. Black ties. Expressions. And sat between them, in a purple crushed velvet catsuit and high reflective VizShades, is a young woman.

"You have something for us?" Says Suit One.

Doctor Jones wipes his sweaty palms on his bespoke jacket and offers his hand. Ignored. With a small cough he says.

"Er, yes. We thought you may be interested in this. You've read the casefile?"

"Yes doctor. We are capable of reading. Now, I believe you have a vidscreen for us?"

"Of course...." Turning he operates the small red control pad. The wall flickers into life. A room. A woman. A bright yellow woman. Not jaundice. Yellow. Like a glowing sun. Her skin is loose and flapping. She is drooling. "After ten days we became afraid of the possibility of cross infection, of pandemics...you understand? This is a secure facility but even so..."

"Yes doctor. We understand."

"The decision to terminate was approved and so..."

The picture changes. Cloudy droplets spray into the room. Stiffening and then clawing at her face the woman coughs, screams, slumps forward. Is still. A white suited figure enters the room. Bio suit. Gas mask. Cursory glance. Pulse checked. Turning to the camera the figure raises a thumb.

Behind him the woman convulses and coughs. Screams.

"Next we administered via tubes and yet...as you can see..."

Still. Cold. Dead. And then...the woman convulses and coughs and screams.

"We then moved to more, er, extreme methods."

The room. The woman. Behind her the Bio Suited figure. In his hands a military issue revolver. Five shots. In the chest. Stillness.

And then....The woman convulses and coughs.

And screams.

More Video...the gun, shaking hands, headshots, blood....coughing...screaming. Such screaming...

"As you can see...she seems incapable of killing...."

Suit Two nods. "Interesting."

Suit One. "I take it you have not informed New Dawn as we requested?"

"No...no, of course not....but what should we do? The booths must be closed down as soon as possible..."

"This is of no concern. We purchased the entire franchise and all viable stock last night. As of 3am the operation has been closed down."

The woman in the shades makes a movement with her hands. Slight. Heavy.

Suit Two. "And now doctor we wish to purchase your patient."

Doctor Jones is aghast. "What? You can't just buy people...what are you thinking?"

Suit One smiles. Tight and thin.

"Now now doctor...you do not strike me as a foolish man..."




Outside.

The sun plays secret games in black suits and cold eyes.

Suit One. "The transportation has been arranged for 5pm. Our operatives are running decoy."

Suit Two. "I still say we paid over the odds..."

But the young woman raises a hand.

"We paid what we had to pay. Think about it gentlemen. Regeneration. Healing. The future."

And with a cruel predatory smile Dominika Raith continues. ""There is a fortune to be found in immortality don't you think?"

And she laughs.




IT IS NOW 93 YEARS TO FRACTURE DAY.

Short Story - LOBO (A SLIGHT REPRISE)

The countdown to FRACTURE DAY has begun...
"It's all about the echoes you fools! Can't you see? The reflection IS the thing." Captain Sirius Quantum

The kid sounds flustered. What's new? The kid gives good fluster. He says:

"Boss, we've got an incident..."

I make with the Lobo sigh... swallow something gin flavoured and cough a reply. "What we got Kid?"

He does that nervous thing... talks too fast... flirts with Sister Babble. I keep it zipped. Take it all in. He's right, as far as incidents go this is a prime A Motherfucker. I get tired of listening and talk over him... don't worry, he's used to it.

"Keep it locked down Kid... I'm on my way."

I'm on the corner of Ziggy and Faust just taking in the Neon and Dust... the scene's a few blocks away... I figure if time's playing by the rules today it should take me about ten minutes to get there. I cut across Kilminster and start walking.

It's an incident alright, seems some guy just torched one of The Pyramid's PR Booths... now I can hear you, what’s so strange about a little arson, a little bit of fire in this goddam stinking hole? Think again smartass... this is a Pyramid installation and no fucker, not even me, messes with those goons. Kid's got the perp holed up in an abandoned building just across the street. I told him to keep him safe. Keep frosty. Don't call nothing in till I get there.

Geldof's a good cop. The perp's safe for now.

Lungs are doing their thing so I fish in my pocket for my smokes, old fingers brush against my badge in its cracked leather wallet. Memories. Old. Real. Like my coat and my hat. Battered and stinking and damn near perfect. Links to a life long gone. Fifty One years ago today I lost the only thing in my life that ever meant anything to me. Lost in a splatter of blood and stripped flesh. Figure my heart went with them.

Brush my coat down. Pull down my hat. Like I said... keep your memories close.

I'm sucking a lung of smoke and decorating the sidewalk with phlegm when I notice a group approaching me. Smell them first. Dog Boys. Greasers. All Retro Quiffs and Chrono Drapes and those damn fool Eye Guards every fucker seems to be wearing these days. I scent their anticipation... and then BINGO... they clock who I am. Watch them turn the other way. Vanish down a sidestreet.

Smart kids. Smart. Everybody in this shithole knows who I am. Everybody fears the Lobo myth...

There's a crowd of cops around the burnt-out booth. A cordon of idiots and tape. One of them's talking too loud. I catch:

"...gnarly old bastard's probably all dried up by now..."

Some of them laugh... those with their backs to me. The other's see me coming. Stay silent. Grow a little paler. Motormouth's still laughing at his own words. I know him. Johnson. Bull Splice. Grade A Dickhead.

I pop a claw and tap him on the shoulder.

"Wanna share the joke Johnson?"

His face is a picture, as he turns. Mumbles something. Waves a hand.

"Geldof's waiting for you over there Lobo... Boss... " A pause. A flounder. "Sir."

I say nothing. Give him the stare. The Lobo stare. Part of me figures I should keep staring till I can smell the piss... see it rolling down his leg...

The cop in me figures I should get to work. One last smile, thin and cruel and I turn away. There's enough shit in my life... and besides... I know the sequence to Johnson's locker. Guess I've got some time to think up a little surprise.

Broken glass and smoke. Bits of chrome. I step over them and cross the street. Kid's seen me coming. Pops the door and lets me in.

Old abandoned room. Greasy, stained, dusty. Smells like damp and rust and shit. Our city's deep, personal scent.

Kid greets me. "Boss... he's over here."

There, in the corner, a Fox Boy. Shaking. Sweating too much. He's got activist written all over him. Further back, another figure, in the darkness. I see the ServoLock twinkle. A Droid. His personal Droid probably.

"Lobo?"

I'm thinking of older days. Of another Droid. Our Droid...

"Lobo? Boss?........ Kat?"

Yeah. That's me. Detective Lobo. Detective Katrina Lobo. Kat to my friends... but you can call me Boss.

I shrug. "Nothing Kid... just thinking. So... what's the score? Any fatalities?"

He shakes his head. Rubs his whiskers. Fills me in. No casualties... just property damage. No attempt to flee. No resisting arrest... I zone out... walk over to Foxy.

"Why?"

He stares at me. Trembles.

"I asked you a question Kid... and your future may well depend on it. Any second now the Pyramid's gonna get wind of this and this shithole will be crawling with Shades. You ever seen a Shade close up? You ever smelt the ugly fuckers? No... I didn't think so... so, once again Kid... WHY?"

He says:

"My Sister was one of the Eastgate 23"

Shit... That figures. Eastgate. Still trying to forget that fuck up. The protesters said it was a peaceful rally. The Pyramid said it was a Terrorist cell. The call was late. The Pyramid got there first.

I can still smell the blood.

I make with the decision.

"It's your lucky day Foxy... any of those other cops out there would have sold your ass to NewDawn quicker than your morning shit... but us... me and Geldof? We've got no love for the Pyramid and its goons... so stay there, don't move and shut the fuck up while the City's finest deal with this."

Seems he's good at understanding orders.

I reach for my BoltGun... The BoltGun HE had made for me... comforting, familiar grip. Take aim. Spray some bolts into crumbling masonry. Wait for the dust to clear. Holster my gun.

"Geldof... give me your piece."

He hands it over. Pristine regulation weapon. Recently oiled. I click the setting to incendiary. There's a pile of waste bags in the corner. Paper. Cardboard. Organic matter... figure the Shades ain’t too smart. Figure this will fool them. Fire three shots. Watch the bags get consumed by flame. Hand Geldof his gun.

"Way I see it the perp got gnarly... resisted arrest. Concealed weapon. Brief gunfight... torching him was the only option... you dig?"

Geldof gives me the nod. That nod.

I point towards the back door.

"Figure you and your Droid should fuck off about now... I see you again pulling any kinda shit and you're Cell Meat... Understand?"

He's all shades of fucking gratitude... got the adrenaline shakes going on. Too many words.

I shake my head.

"Just go, ok? Fucking go..."

And then.

And then, as he makes to leave, his Droid steps from the shadows and I see it. Jesus, isn't anything in this cesspit ever black and white? Long, harsh, ugly scars down the torso... across the neck...

I hold up a hand. Make with the sigh... I give good sigh... It's kinda my default noise.

"Hold up there Sparky..."

Push my hat back a little. Let some hair fall across my shoulders (still black after all this time.) Let him see the white Fur Star on my forehead... the Star that every fucker in this City knows. The Mark of Lobo they call it... You see this close up and you're seconds from becoming Slab Furniture...

"You got a Sonic Whip on you Kid?"

He looks lost. Confused. Poor puppy.

"Yeah? Yeah I do... but they're not illegal are they?"

"No... No... I figure they're not... but hand it over anyway..."

He fumbles around. Hands it over. Shaking.

"Now... tell me kid... do you beat your Droid?"

More shakes. More sweat.

"Er... yeah... sometimes y'know... everyone does. Keeps them in line doesn’t it?....."

He trails off.

I let him.

Shake my head.

Look at Geldof.

"I'm afraid you're gonna have to call this one in partner..."

Now the kid's all panic... fuck is he panic. Babbling. Stammer city.

"B b b but you just said... y y you can't hand me over to them... .they'll kill me...."

Shake my head again.

"You got me wrong kid... he ain’t calling the Pyramid... he's calling Mercy... he's calling the hospital..."

I enjoy the question in his eyes. Savour it.

Then I shoot him twice in each kneecap.

Bend down and whisper...

"Don't beat your Droid kid... just don't ok?"

(What? What? You fucking sissies... the ReGen's already healing his fucking knees but the Bolts? Oh the Bolts will need removing and the lesson? Oh the lesson will fucking stick)

Geldof's giving me that disapproving thing. I make with the shrug.

"Go figure Kid... It must be my time of the month... "



And then I'm out of there. Leave the Kid to clear it up. It's what he does. He's good at that shit. He's a good cop. A clean cop.

A good friend.

Do some wandering. Some thinking.

Next thing I know I'm standing before the ruins of a building I know too well.

A voice. Soft. Irish hints.

"You look like you need a drink detective..."

Turn my head. There, sitting on what remains of the perimeter wall, that kid from my apartment block. All Red hair and VizShades. Tight fitted leather jacket. Enigmatic smile.

Fuck if I don't just hate enigma...

"If I'm not mistaken this is the place of your husband’s most heroic moment. The place where he saved the future..."

I snort.

"Check your facts kid. He saved shit. Just another fucking lunatic."

That smile again.

"But Detective! Knight was the bringer of this glorious New Age of Wonders!"

"Bullshit! Amelia Knight was just another fucking idiot messing with shit nobody wanted..."

Silence. And then...

"Like I said Detective... you look like you need a drink... I know a place that's always open..."

I laugh. Cold. Sharp.

"I figure I do Kid... I figure I do... But this Cat never drinks with strangers."

More smiles. A sudden scent of Jasmine and Cinnamon. The VizShades are removed.

He has purple eyes.

"In that case Detective you can call me Joshua.... and seeing as we are no longer strangers would you join me for a drink?"

Don't ask me why but I relent. Maybe it's the day... maybe it's the memories.

"Lead on Kid... Lead on."

Then it's just me and the kid and the jasmine and the dust.

Always the Dust.



"When Joshua was a little girl he fell between the gaps in the World"

COMPETITION - Kneel Downe's Stolen Indie Anthology

You'll have heard all about Kneel's newest book, SPORADIC TOO. So how do you want to be a part of his next one?  Find out how to be involved with Kneel Downe's Stolen Indie...
Well he hasn't really STOLEN it because he's not a thief. No this is a book title. It's the moniker that will adorn an anthology cover. Could it be your poem or story in there? Could it be your art on the cover? Kneel has decided he wants to give back more in 2016. He wants to help charity with the sale of this book. He wants to help writers and artists by providing a platform for them to get noticed if they are new to the game, and a challenge if they are seasoned pros, and what better way than by publishing them himself? So to the nitty gritty...

The book has a theme (yes, you guessed it): Stolen.

All styles of writing are welcome be it prose, poetry or more in keeping with Kneel's own Twitter style of writing, whatever you want. It just has to follow the theme and be no more than 1000 words but it HAS to be your own original idea - no fan fic please, it's not a VirulentBlurb book! All stories may be eventually published here on the website but a panel of judges, people loved and respected by Kneel, will pick their favourites which will make up the published book. Those writers chosen to be in the anthology will receive an ebook of the final publication as congratulations.

Alongside supporting the writers amongst you, Kneel wants to see what the arty types can come up with. So, arty types, go design us a book cover for Stolen Indie! Again it can be in whatever style you want as long as it is inkeeping with the theme and it's an original idea, no fan art. All art will again be published on the website and will be judged by Steve Taylor-Bryant from the Garbage-File site and the Blurb's artist in residence Susan Omand with the winner becoming the book's cover and receiving a print of their design as it will appear on the book and an ebook.

The closing date for submissions is Wednesday 23rd March 2016 and all entries should be emailed to Blurb Towers here at VirulentBlurb@gmail.com. You can read a lot more about what we're looking for and see all the submission guidelines and prizes on the COMPETITION page.

SPORADIC TOO:Infections Press Release

Kneel Downe announces that SPORADIC TOO: Infections will be released on 30th January 2016...
Back in the annals of time, in August 2014, Kneel Downe did something very few authors do in their lifetimes - he released his notebook. His VirulentBlurb universe was already well established in the mind’s eye of his readers but so much of Kneel’s writing didn't quite fit or wasn't related to his universe. Instead there were streams of consciousness or single tweets, not necessarily the seeds from which new worlds would grow but still glorious writing, and they were collected into a book called SPORADIC and released as a bit of fun.

What Kneel wasn't expecting from this was the reaction of his fanbase, which was rabid with positivity, and the critical acclaim that this madness garnered. SPORADIC was just Kneel doing what Kneel does – sharing with the world. He never meant for it to be the work of art it became and Kneel has been humbled and honoured by how well it was received.

So here we are a year and a half later and Kneel is at it again...

This time however, it’s a little different. This time there are definite fragments of the VirulentBlurb hidden within the pages and these fragments matter. They are the spores of contagion. They fill holes and gaps whilst creating others. They speak directly to the history and the future of the VirulentBlurb and add a spark of colour that will forever change the pattern in the weave.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Blurbians all, Kneel Downe presents Sporadic Too: Infections.


SPORADIC TOO: Infections will be released in Paperback on LULU and on Kindle on Amazon with the paperback coming soon.

Pre-order the Kindle below: