“It’s time,” she said and in we stumbled like lambs bleating in the slaughtered air. Any lingering hopes that he would be granted some final serenity or peace dashed in a maelstrom of tortured angles and the sweat-soaked rictus of a face that has been long lost to madness.
“No. Not blood. Not exactly.”
It’s always nice to have an excuse to scribble some words on a blog post – and today’s excuse is to tell you that I’ve got a brand new piece up on Literally Stories.
A Single Grain Of Salt is a story that has been trying to get written for a couple of years without a whole lot of success. For me, this often happens when a tale has a link to reality, and particularly when it relates to an event that still haunts me despite the fact that tragedy was avoided.
If you happened to stumble your way through the buffed and shining revolving door to stagger forward to the sanitised, public-facing cubicles of the cover-story building, you’d be forgiven for thinking that all was as it seems.
Except, as we all know, things are rarely so simple.
The smiling helpers ensconced in their shining, plexiglass cocoons are merely a front. A façade. Like a Cuban shopfront on a different continent in a different time.
Want to see what happens when a fully paid up procrastinator gets bored of editing a piece and gives himself three minutes to write a drabble?
Read on my friends…read on…
As befits a man of my advancing years, this will be a quickie.
My week is off to a flier, thanks mostly to the ever wondrous and wonderful people over at Literally Stories who have seen fit to publish another one of my new pieces.
For those of you who’ve read a lot of my stories and blog posts I’m sure you’ll agree that Car Crash Television is a real departure for me. I’ve tried really hard to step away from my usual comfort zone of using flowery prose to expand on weighty and topical themes and challenged myself to write a mostly dialogue-based piece focusing on a bloke moaning about what’s on the TV.
“Come on sweetie, we’ve got to get going.”
“Don’t want to. I just want to stay here.”
“I know you do my love but you’ve got to go, and unless you get moving we’re going to be late. You’ll have lots of fun, just you wait and see.”
“No I won’t. I don’t want to go.”
“Angel, I know it’s scary but everyone else will be feeling the same as you. You’ll make new friends so quickly. It really will be OK.”
“Don’t want to make friends. I’ve got my other friends. Why can’t I just play with them instead? All these new ones will just be weird and they won’t like me.”
…and I would jog five hundred more
Just to be the man who jogged a thousand miles for no particular reason whatsoever and then kicked off your new year by blathering on about it*
*last line requires work and possible kickbacks to The Proclaimers
Sitting in front of the Mac eating biscuits and drinking tea in an effort to bleed out the excesses of New Year’s Eve seems like the perfect time to review my year of running.
At this point a normal, upbeat person would insert a line like And What A Year It Was! I shall spare you such vomit-inducing positivity but I will go so far as to say, It Wasn’t Bad.
After a whole month of going cold turkey I find myself two days short of a day that will probably contain warm turkey. Then there’ll be cold turkey again. At least for a couple of days.
“Maybe we should have pizza on Boxing Day this year love.”
“Yeah, I want to try that new place Contrivios on that big circular junction. Apparently it’s better to go for their thicker crust offering as it’s perfectly cooked.”
“The Snowlay Roundabout. Deep pan. Crisp and even.”
Look, I never promised that having a break from blogging would mean an end to dreadful puns…
Forgive me father (and indeed mother) for I have waffled. It’s been eight years, six months and one week since my first blog post and despite my best intentions I have used foul and blasphemous language on several occasions…
Eight and a half years, that’s a fuckload of time!
…furthermore I have rarely had much of any substance to say and have mostly relied on word prompts, tricks and a bunch of other stuff to get by.
Sad but true…but it perhaps needs a little more context and explanation around why it matters.
The net is a world wide web wonder
Where many fine stories are born
Not to mention the sparks of ideas
In amongst all the HD-shot porn
Imagine you’ve landed on Saturn
Prompts a site with a sciencey slant
Your oxygen’s low, and your heart rate is slow
and your co-pilot’s cat is your aunt