Robert C. Day's Blog, page 12

By My Hand

I know he’s dead. I killed him myself. Stabbed the knife into his heart. Felt the blood as it gushed over my face, surprisingly hot, salty to the taste, viscous. I watched the life drain from his eyes. Saw the horror turn slowly to incredulity and then, an unexpected acceptance. I know he’s dead.

I saw him two nights ago. I was brushing my teeth and I glanced up towards the window. I clearly saw his face outlined against the leaves that were swirly madly on the tree outside. I blinked, and he...

Cooked

There was this big fire what looked like a mushroom. I was a long way off … ’cause I was. My bidness. But I was heading on back to my sweet cowboy. I know he was there ’cause his leg was brok. I know that that there mushroom landed smack in the middle of town because know where stuff is. Was.

I could feel the heat from a long way off. It was hot enough so that I knew if I went closer, I would fry. I didn’t go no closer. I was up on a bluff a good ways off, just sitting, when my skin started t...

Genre Thoughts

This is an exercise in understanding how Genre Fiction is put together.

Terms used in fiction:

Style – an expression of thought, using language that is characteristic of an individual, period, school, or nation Genre – a dynamic classification system to help the readers make sense of unpredictable art Content – the material dealt with in a piece of writing as distinct from its form or style Pace – a tool that controls the speed and rhythm at which a story is told and the readers are pulled...

Stroke

I wake. Short sentence. No meaning. Words come from nowhere and go into nowhere else. More souffle than the muffin I was.

Something missing.

Some whole lots of somethings are gone.

I watch closely for them, but they don’t come back.

Just an expanse in front. Like being three inches away from whipped cream. I want to taste it. I stretch out. Can’t reach. Too far to be three inches. The thought of inch slips from me like a wet tomato seed.

Language.

Coming, going, coming, going.

Mesmerised with...

Hello, I’m Sheena

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Hi, my name is Sheena. You might remember me from a story that that Robert wrote called Breathe.

To cut a long story short, I had a fling with Mark that didn’t end well. It was bad enough for me, but far, far worse for him I suppose.

Anyhow, the reason I’m writing to introduce myself today is that I got some feedback saying that I was not a sympathetic character in that story, so I want to set the record straight – I’m a nice girl. So there.

Now, before you get your mind into all kinds of tr...

Rhetoric Devices in Prose

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Being an analysis of Rhetoric Devices used in the first four pages of Wise Children by Angela Carter:

We are confidants in this story of twin 75-year-old sisters, whooping it up in the house that their grandma left them all those years and memories ago. They sound like wild children more than old dears, but ever so engaging for that.

The narrator seems to be one of the sisters and we are definitely on the other side of the fence from her. She and her sister, and their cats are on one side, a...

Dystopian Utopias

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It’s a mad, bad, dangerous world. People are violent, unpredictable and remarkably prone to unhappiness considering the opportunities available to us for material comfort.

One might observe that if madness and the other sources of discomfort were removed, one would be left with sanity and happiness. But at what cost?

I’m watching a movie called Equals at the moment. I just broke off to type this. It’s about a future world in which emotions have been ‘cured’. It’s also a study of what happens...

Dinosaurs

Did you know that dinosaurs were the “dominant terrestrial vertebrates from 231 to 66 million years ago”*?

Kinda makes our nascent ‘civilisation’ seem sorta weedy, don’t it!
*Dark Matter and the Dinosaurs – Lisa Randall

Spare Some Change?

I can change.

I just have to finish this chocolate bar first. No you can’t have a piece! It’s mine!

But –...

What Is Life For?

You ever wonder what life is for? Are we just here to enjoy ourselves, or is there another, better reason for us all being here?

We potter here and there in our dressed up clothes and underwear and we think that we’re doing all sorts of good and useful things, but are we really doing much more than passing time until we pass away?

I have no idea what the real answers are, but I’d be interested to know what you think. What are you here on this planet for?