New years eve. 23:02
Less than an hour now, man.
I'm going clean at midnight. I've been smoking the stuff for so long now man, it's like.. err..addled my brain... I think.... Maybe... Maybe not... I'm not sure... I can't seem to think straight any... y'know... like... err... any more.
I finished rolling the joint and fired it up. Puffed furiously on it, smoked as fast as I could, I wanted to get as much inside me before midnight as possible, one final splurge.
I'm not giving it up for y'know for like health reasons or nothin' like that, man, everyone knows that a joint a day is medicinal, y'know... don't they man? So my dozen or so a day must have turned me into a super healthy untapped well of sprints, push-ups and star jumps, an' other y'know, like athletic stuff. And god knows, all the relaxing I do must be beneficial too, man.
They say it's addictive, oh man that's such a load of cobblers, I smoke it all the time man, so I should know.. like... y'know... know what I'm talking about.
23:14
I stubbed the roach out in the ashtray, grabbed the makings and started working on another.
Y'know, man... I've heard people say that it can cause y'know like.. err... delusions an' paranoia. That's bull, man... Total bull! And when I get to be king of Europe the first thing I'm gonna do is bring out a law making rumours like that illegal.
An' paranoia, I'm gonna make that illegal too, well, I will if nobody manages to get to me first, cos kings have... err... y'know... enemies, lots of enemies. I think so long as I sleep with my head under the covers I should be okay though, I mean... if they can't see me they can't get to me, can they? They can't... can they?
23:33
Stub. Grab. Roll. Light.
Yeah, I feel good, man. I can't really see my health improvin' at all when I go clean. My mate Jethro says that as long as the blood I err... y'know... err... vomit up every morning ain't coagulated then I have nothing to worry 'bout, an' he knows... err... y'know... err... knows what he's talking about, man... he's been using the stuff for years too.
23:48
Stub. Grab. Roll. Light.
The last one, yeah, definitely the last one, man. Jethro won't half be surprised when I errr... when I err... tell him I'm going clean. He won't understand of course. Well, what is there to understand about it, man? Nothing, that's what. I think... or maybe something. I'm not sure.
00:00
I grabbed my stash and went into the bathroom, took a final drag from the joint then threw it into the pan, as I exhaled I upended the polythene bag and poured the contents from that into the pan too.
With a feeling of supreme confidence and superiority I pulled the chain and flushed the weed out of my life.
00:05
I can already feel the new me coursing through my veins, I feel on top of the err... on errr... top of the world, man.
00:13
All this new me coursing through my veins is making me kinda jumpy, y'know man... like... err... edgy.
What was that noise? Why am I itching all over like this? Why do I feel so restless?
I picked up the phone and punched the numbers.
The phone rang, and rang, what the hell was he doing that was taking him so long to pick up? Friends are supposed to be there for each other aren't they?
Aaaah... At last!
“Jethro? Hiya man, what're ya up to? ... Uh? Oh... sorry man, tell Babs I'm sorry too. Look I need you to come over... Yeah, like... err.. now man, I'm having some kind of panic attack and I can't face it on my own, I need you here with me man.... And Jethro?... Bring your stash with you man, I seem to have run out.”
What the... err... what the... err... hell, next year man... next year I'm definitely gonna go clean man.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Happy New Year everyone.
Friday, 30 December 2011
Friday, 23 December 2011
The happiest Christmas ever
Several feet beneath the antarctic ice crust the hull of the immense mothership gave out a low hum as the crew initiated engine start-up. Inside the operations room the final briefing was under way with all chief military and scientific personnel present.
Senior scientist Jabal addressed the room.
“After many years of planning and development the moment is finally here. The strike ships are all programmed with their individual target co-ordinates, altitudes and pace of dispersal. The mission-to release the developed virus into the cloud cover, which will then be brought to Earth via the forecasted snowfall.”
“Why can't we just release the virus directly into their atmosphere?” This from the strike commander.
“The virus is extremely complex and volatile, it will only follow the required behavioural pattern within minute parameters of element combinations and temperatures. The virus will bond to the snow crystals, separating at an altitude of zero to thirty feet from the ground. The virus then reaches the second phase triggered by the slightly higher temperature and altered oxygen and nitrogen combination. After ingestion, either through the skin, or any orifice, the virus begins to attack and destroy the central nervous system, while at the same time causing the subject to experience a state of extreme euphoria...”
“Euphoria? What is that?” Interrupted one of the military staff.
“Happiness.” Replied Jabal. “To the humans euphoria is a state of extreme happiness. This euphoria will intensify as the virus strengthens, and will continue until the moment of death. This would be from several minutes to several days depending on many physical and physiological variables within the subject. The euphoria will work in our favour... the humans will die happy”
“How many other species will be affected by the strike?” This from Under-officer Eybro.
“None. Only the dominant species will be harmed by the virus.” Answered Jabal. “Humans, the biological make-up of the virus causes it to ignore all other life forces.”
“What is the success rate of the virus?” The commander enquired.
“Absolute.” Jabal said, confidently. “There are no recovery percentages, no immunity percentages.”
“Surely there will be some survivors, the snow clouds are not due to cover the whole planet, and as we know, some countries are too warm to have snow.” From the commander again.
“The snow clouds will drift, spreading the virus further than the initial cover area. Most of the warrior nations will be annihilated, of the ones that are left, there will be insufficient co-ordinated force remaining to pose any serious threat to our invasion force. The planet will be ours.”
Several hours later hundreds of strike craft running under stealth shields released their payloads into the dense cloud mass that covered the whole of continental America, and over ninety percent of the northern hemisphere.
Just before midnight on Christmas eve the first flakes of snow began to drift down on New York City.
“Hey folks.” Said the jubilant TV announcer. “The countdown to Christmas day starts in less than a minute, and for all you snow lovers out there, the weatherman says that for almost everyone in the world this year it's gonna be a white one. Happy Christmas everyone, and may it be the happiest Christmas ever”
Background music tuned in with the mellow tones of Bing Crosby...
“I'm dreamin' of a white Christmas....”
Happy Christmas everyone.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Senior scientist Jabal addressed the room.
“After many years of planning and development the moment is finally here. The strike ships are all programmed with their individual target co-ordinates, altitudes and pace of dispersal. The mission-to release the developed virus into the cloud cover, which will then be brought to Earth via the forecasted snowfall.”
“Why can't we just release the virus directly into their atmosphere?” This from the strike commander.
“The virus is extremely complex and volatile, it will only follow the required behavioural pattern within minute parameters of element combinations and temperatures. The virus will bond to the snow crystals, separating at an altitude of zero to thirty feet from the ground. The virus then reaches the second phase triggered by the slightly higher temperature and altered oxygen and nitrogen combination. After ingestion, either through the skin, or any orifice, the virus begins to attack and destroy the central nervous system, while at the same time causing the subject to experience a state of extreme euphoria...”
“Euphoria? What is that?” Interrupted one of the military staff.
“Happiness.” Replied Jabal. “To the humans euphoria is a state of extreme happiness. This euphoria will intensify as the virus strengthens, and will continue until the moment of death. This would be from several minutes to several days depending on many physical and physiological variables within the subject. The euphoria will work in our favour... the humans will die happy”
“How many other species will be affected by the strike?” This from Under-officer Eybro.
“None. Only the dominant species will be harmed by the virus.” Answered Jabal. “Humans, the biological make-up of the virus causes it to ignore all other life forces.”
“What is the success rate of the virus?” The commander enquired.
“Absolute.” Jabal said, confidently. “There are no recovery percentages, no immunity percentages.”
“Surely there will be some survivors, the snow clouds are not due to cover the whole planet, and as we know, some countries are too warm to have snow.” From the commander again.
“The snow clouds will drift, spreading the virus further than the initial cover area. Most of the warrior nations will be annihilated, of the ones that are left, there will be insufficient co-ordinated force remaining to pose any serious threat to our invasion force. The planet will be ours.”
Several hours later hundreds of strike craft running under stealth shields released their payloads into the dense cloud mass that covered the whole of continental America, and over ninety percent of the northern hemisphere.
Just before midnight on Christmas eve the first flakes of snow began to drift down on New York City.
“Hey folks.” Said the jubilant TV announcer. “The countdown to Christmas day starts in less than a minute, and for all you snow lovers out there, the weatherman says that for almost everyone in the world this year it's gonna be a white one. Happy Christmas everyone, and may it be the happiest Christmas ever”
Background music tuned in with the mellow tones of Bing Crosby...
“I'm dreamin' of a white Christmas....”
Happy Christmas everyone.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 16 December 2011
Breathe and push
“That's it darling, breathe... breathe and push... breathe and push.”
My own breath was ragged in my throat, my heart pumping furiously.
“You're doing great darling, breathe... breathe deeply... that's it... breathe and push... breathe and push. C'mon darling... nearly there... nearly there...”
I spoke to her in a gentle and encouraging tone, she was in pain, and it was all my fault.
When I had first suggested we do it she hadn't wanted to. I can still hear her response now.
“I don't want to do it.” She had said with utter conviction.
But the urge was upon me, I had never done it before, I had heard so much about it and desperately wanted to try it. It sounded so exciting, stimulating, satisfying, and I thought maybe the exercise would be good for us.
I begged, cajoled, pestered, sulked, hinted... all to no avail. She still wasn't for giving in.
Until Christmas eve.
We were cuddled up on the couch, both feeling the glow of the after dinner drinks. She draped her arms around my neck and nibbled on my ear.
“If you could have a Christmas wish come true, what would you wish for? She whispered.
“You know what I want to do, what I want us to do together.” I answered. I could feel expectation rising. Hope blossoming.
“Okay then darling, let's do it.”
“Only if you really want to... I mean, you don't want to do it just to satisfy me, do you? You really want to do it too, don't you?”
“Yes darling I do, I know how much it means to you, and so I'm going to make your Christmas wish come true.”
We embraced, kissed passionately, and made beautiful, beautiful love.
* * * * *
The happy event would take place in the last week of September.
As the spring came, then drifted into summer I could tell she was having doubts. The closer the date came the more afraid she seemed to be that things would not go well. And although she never mentioned it, I could tell she was unhappy about the weight she had put on over the last few months. I tried to reassure her, she would always be beautiful to me.
And now all the waiting was over.
* * * * *
“Nearly there darling, nearly there... just keep pushing. Just keep breathing... and pushing”
She gulped air, emitting a small high-pitched grunt on each exhale, on each push.
I lifted my head and turned sideways to look at her, it saddened me to see her like this. Her face contorted, straining, with each breath hard fought for. Every ounce of her being, every fibre of her muscles, every calorie of energy, every inch of her willpower, all channelled and focused into the act of breathing and pushing.
And it was all my fault. It had been my idea, my need to experience, my selfishness that had led us to this moment.
I wanted to reach across to her, to hold her hand, but couldn't. I was afraid to let go.
I wanted to offer more encouragement but couldn't find the strength to speak.
And I was so proud of her. Proud of her for agreeing to do it. Proud of her for loving me enough to do it with me.
My heart really went out to her. Cycling up this steep mountain road was probably one of the hardest things I had ever done in my life, and she had matched me pedal push for pedal push.
As we reached the summit, and began the free-wheel descent down the other side, both of us puffing and blowing, I decided that maybe she had been right all along.
The bicycle riding mountain tour had looked so good in the brochure, and last Christmas she had secretly booked it for us as my present knowing that it was something that I really wanted to do. I don't think I realised just how much hard work was going to be involved, neither of us was any where near fit enough to take on something like this.
I think the next time I come up with one of my bright ideas for an adventure holiday and she says “I don't want to do it.” I may just take more notice.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
My own breath was ragged in my throat, my heart pumping furiously.
“You're doing great darling, breathe... breathe deeply... that's it... breathe and push... breathe and push. C'mon darling... nearly there... nearly there...”
I spoke to her in a gentle and encouraging tone, she was in pain, and it was all my fault.
When I had first suggested we do it she hadn't wanted to. I can still hear her response now.
“I don't want to do it.” She had said with utter conviction.
But the urge was upon me, I had never done it before, I had heard so much about it and desperately wanted to try it. It sounded so exciting, stimulating, satisfying, and I thought maybe the exercise would be good for us.
I begged, cajoled, pestered, sulked, hinted... all to no avail. She still wasn't for giving in.
Until Christmas eve.
We were cuddled up on the couch, both feeling the glow of the after dinner drinks. She draped her arms around my neck and nibbled on my ear.
“If you could have a Christmas wish come true, what would you wish for? She whispered.
“You know what I want to do, what I want us to do together.” I answered. I could feel expectation rising. Hope blossoming.
“Okay then darling, let's do it.”
“Only if you really want to... I mean, you don't want to do it just to satisfy me, do you? You really want to do it too, don't you?”
“Yes darling I do, I know how much it means to you, and so I'm going to make your Christmas wish come true.”
We embraced, kissed passionately, and made beautiful, beautiful love.
* * * * *
The happy event would take place in the last week of September.
As the spring came, then drifted into summer I could tell she was having doubts. The closer the date came the more afraid she seemed to be that things would not go well. And although she never mentioned it, I could tell she was unhappy about the weight she had put on over the last few months. I tried to reassure her, she would always be beautiful to me.
And now all the waiting was over.
* * * * *
“Nearly there darling, nearly there... just keep pushing. Just keep breathing... and pushing”
She gulped air, emitting a small high-pitched grunt on each exhale, on each push.
I lifted my head and turned sideways to look at her, it saddened me to see her like this. Her face contorted, straining, with each breath hard fought for. Every ounce of her being, every fibre of her muscles, every calorie of energy, every inch of her willpower, all channelled and focused into the act of breathing and pushing.
And it was all my fault. It had been my idea, my need to experience, my selfishness that had led us to this moment.
I wanted to reach across to her, to hold her hand, but couldn't. I was afraid to let go.
I wanted to offer more encouragement but couldn't find the strength to speak.
And I was so proud of her. Proud of her for agreeing to do it. Proud of her for loving me enough to do it with me.
My heart really went out to her. Cycling up this steep mountain road was probably one of the hardest things I had ever done in my life, and she had matched me pedal push for pedal push.
As we reached the summit, and began the free-wheel descent down the other side, both of us puffing and blowing, I decided that maybe she had been right all along.
The bicycle riding mountain tour had looked so good in the brochure, and last Christmas she had secretly booked it for us as my present knowing that it was something that I really wanted to do. I don't think I realised just how much hard work was going to be involved, neither of us was any where near fit enough to take on something like this.
I think the next time I come up with one of my bright ideas for an adventure holiday and she says “I don't want to do it.” I may just take more notice.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 9 December 2011
Fragile
I woke up this morning feeling totally shattered. My night had passed in a kaleidoscope of fragmented dreams and broken sleep. As the first rays of light cracked through the window my unfocused mind flickered with splintered thoughts and fractured logic. The more I tried to snap out of this mood the more I felt I was going to pieces, falling apart.
All in all, I felt rather fragile.
I think maybe I'll go to the pub tonight and get absolutely smashed.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
All in all, I felt rather fragile.
I think maybe I'll go to the pub tonight and get absolutely smashed.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 2 December 2011
Desert fare
I watched them from the scrub line at the top of the desert ridge. The long black robes and pointed hats stood out sharply in silhouette as they danced around the high flames of the fire.
I watched as they discarded their clothes and continued to hop, pirouette, and gyrate around the flames. The pitch of their voices rising and falling, chanting.
I watched as the coven joined hands, completing the circle of sisterhood.
I watched as the circling ceased, and the coven stood and swayed, deep in entrancement.
Then I made my move.
I set off at a sprint, raising the axe high above my head as my feet pounded the soft sand.
The coven, alerted by the rapid footfalls sprang to motion and scattered in alarm, I splintered the skull of the nearest one, as I wrenched the axe free she fell face first onto the scorching fire. I immediately looked for a second target.
After several minutes of futilely chasing flitting shadows I gave up, I had lost the element of surprise, and these witches of the sand were nimble and agile. No matter, one would be enough.
Returning to the fire I dragged the by now well burnt body out of the flames. After leaving her to cool for several minutes I ripped one leg off and took a huge mouthful of meat from the thigh.
Delicious.
I had eaten witchmeat from just about everywhere at some time in my life.
Juicy casserole made from the sinuous tree witches who lived in the eastern forests. They were a bit tough, but made a succulent meal if cooked slowly on a low light, and with plenty of fresh vegetables.
The northern ice witches from the glacial slopes, roasted, then served covered in melted butter with side salad, followed by ice cream and syrup.
The west coast sea witches were a bit salty, and had to be marinated in sauce for a few days first, then mixed with plenty of peppers and spices and curried overnight, served with naan bread and hummus... Mmmmm!
But sitting by a roaring fire gazing up at the star-filled desert night sky, nothing hits the spot quite like a hot toasted sand witch.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
I watched as they discarded their clothes and continued to hop, pirouette, and gyrate around the flames. The pitch of their voices rising and falling, chanting.
I watched as the coven joined hands, completing the circle of sisterhood.
I watched as the circling ceased, and the coven stood and swayed, deep in entrancement.
Then I made my move.
I set off at a sprint, raising the axe high above my head as my feet pounded the soft sand.
The coven, alerted by the rapid footfalls sprang to motion and scattered in alarm, I splintered the skull of the nearest one, as I wrenched the axe free she fell face first onto the scorching fire. I immediately looked for a second target.
After several minutes of futilely chasing flitting shadows I gave up, I had lost the element of surprise, and these witches of the sand were nimble and agile. No matter, one would be enough.
Returning to the fire I dragged the by now well burnt body out of the flames. After leaving her to cool for several minutes I ripped one leg off and took a huge mouthful of meat from the thigh.
Delicious.
I had eaten witchmeat from just about everywhere at some time in my life.
Juicy casserole made from the sinuous tree witches who lived in the eastern forests. They were a bit tough, but made a succulent meal if cooked slowly on a low light, and with plenty of fresh vegetables.
The northern ice witches from the glacial slopes, roasted, then served covered in melted butter with side salad, followed by ice cream and syrup.
The west coast sea witches were a bit salty, and had to be marinated in sauce for a few days first, then mixed with plenty of peppers and spices and curried overnight, served with naan bread and hummus... Mmmmm!
But sitting by a roaring fire gazing up at the star-filled desert night sky, nothing hits the spot quite like a hot toasted sand witch.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 25 November 2011
No malice
There is no malice in their actions, I have to believe that.
The pain was almost unbearable when they took the samples, when they cut, when they removed tissue, when they opened, when they probed, when they bored.
I have to believe that their thirst for knowledge is benign, that my pain is given to provide answers that will benefit mankind, that will help them to help mankind.
There has to be a reason for them being here, for me being here, for my suffering.
They use no anaesthetics, no numbing agent, no painkiller. Maybe pain is a concept as alien to them as I am.
Maybe their anaesthetics would harm me, or maybe they look upon me as a lower life form that doesn't merit compassion or consideration.
Yet still, I have to believe that there is no malice in their actions... I have to believe that.
The alternative is unthinkable.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
The pain was almost unbearable when they took the samples, when they cut, when they removed tissue, when they opened, when they probed, when they bored.
I have to believe that their thirst for knowledge is benign, that my pain is given to provide answers that will benefit mankind, that will help them to help mankind.
There has to be a reason for them being here, for me being here, for my suffering.
They use no anaesthetics, no numbing agent, no painkiller. Maybe pain is a concept as alien to them as I am.
Maybe their anaesthetics would harm me, or maybe they look upon me as a lower life form that doesn't merit compassion or consideration.
Yet still, I have to believe that there is no malice in their actions... I have to believe that.
The alternative is unthinkable.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 18 November 2011
Archie and the horse
The cart creaked and groaned as it trundled along the rutted track. The horse, a large black and white, skittered nervously, held in check on a tight rein. Aboard the cart Archie Lees, his wife, and their two small children jolted uncomfortably amongst the paltry pile of their possessions.
From the crest of the nearby hill a large band of heavily armed brigands watched the horse and cart approach the city gates. The same gates that had kept them separated from the spoils they had hungered after for so long.
As Archie pulled the horse to a standstill at the massive steel gates a small grille slid aside to reveal a pair of sharp eyes.
“What business do you have here?”
“We used to have a farm over in the valley.” Replied Archie. “The brigands stole just about everything we had, then burnt it to the ground. I brought my family here hoping to find sanctuary, and hopefully employment.”
“What skills do you have that the city can use?”
“I have a strong back, and a willing mind, I will be of use to someone.”
The grille slid shut with a loud clunk, and with the sound of powered pistons the massive gates cycled slowly sideways to reveal several soldiers armed with swords and crossbows.
“Bring your cart in here.”
Archie climbed down, grabbed the horse's bridle, and led it into the area between the inner and outer gates.
Two soldiers searched Archie, his family, and the cart for weapons whilst the others watched alertly. When nothing of danger was discovered the mood relaxed slightly.
The horse tossed its head nervously.
“Your horse seems a bit skittish, I hope he ain't going to run amok through the streets.”
“Don't worry, he'll be calm soon enough. He's a good horse, got real fire in his belly he has. Archie rubbed the muzzle. “It's okay Troy, be still, be still.”
The truth of the horse's unease was probably due to stomach ache. He hadn't wanted what was offered to him for breakfast today, he'd had to be force fed a special meal for the day ahead.
The soldier threw a lever, and the massive steel gates cycled closed behind the cart. As another soldier reached for the lever to cycle the inner gates Archie pressed the stud hidden in Troy's bridle.
Deep inside the horse's belly there was a minute blue spark as the contact was made.
The horse and cart, Archie, his wife and family, several soldiers, and both the inner and outer gates all disappeared in a white hot ball of vapour.
At the top of the hill the brigand leader vowed silently to himself that today's sacrifice would never be forgotten. Archie had given everything he owned for the cause. Having his family on the cart was the only way to give credibility to his story, and to gain them passage through the gate.
He raised his lance... The signal to attack.
A motley selection of powered vehicles built from parts scavenged from the contaminated land raced down the hill towards the city. On board, the brigands whooped their war cries. The weak soldiers and the soft inhabitants would soon be overrun. Archie's sacrifice had given them the city.
* * * * *
The gates have long since been replaced. Over the years the brigands and the captured inhabitants gradually integrated, until there was just a city again, just like before.
* * * * *
A group of five year old children attending their first day at school were gathered around a statue in the centre of the main square. The impressive marble sculpture of a horse and cart and four occupants, stood atop a plinth that bore the legend...
SO WE ALWAYS REMEMBER
As soon as they were old enough to understand, every child in the city was told the legendary story of Archie Lees and Troy the horse.
* * * * *
From the crest of the nearby hill, a large band of heavily armed brigands stared down at the city, at its high unclimbable walls and massive steel gates. They watched, and waited, and plotted.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
From the crest of the nearby hill a large band of heavily armed brigands watched the horse and cart approach the city gates. The same gates that had kept them separated from the spoils they had hungered after for so long.
As Archie pulled the horse to a standstill at the massive steel gates a small grille slid aside to reveal a pair of sharp eyes.
“What business do you have here?”
“We used to have a farm over in the valley.” Replied Archie. “The brigands stole just about everything we had, then burnt it to the ground. I brought my family here hoping to find sanctuary, and hopefully employment.”
“What skills do you have that the city can use?”
“I have a strong back, and a willing mind, I will be of use to someone.”
The grille slid shut with a loud clunk, and with the sound of powered pistons the massive gates cycled slowly sideways to reveal several soldiers armed with swords and crossbows.
“Bring your cart in here.”
Archie climbed down, grabbed the horse's bridle, and led it into the area between the inner and outer gates.
Two soldiers searched Archie, his family, and the cart for weapons whilst the others watched alertly. When nothing of danger was discovered the mood relaxed slightly.
The horse tossed its head nervously.
“Your horse seems a bit skittish, I hope he ain't going to run amok through the streets.”
“Don't worry, he'll be calm soon enough. He's a good horse, got real fire in his belly he has. Archie rubbed the muzzle. “It's okay Troy, be still, be still.”
The truth of the horse's unease was probably due to stomach ache. He hadn't wanted what was offered to him for breakfast today, he'd had to be force fed a special meal for the day ahead.
The soldier threw a lever, and the massive steel gates cycled closed behind the cart. As another soldier reached for the lever to cycle the inner gates Archie pressed the stud hidden in Troy's bridle.
Deep inside the horse's belly there was a minute blue spark as the contact was made.
The horse and cart, Archie, his wife and family, several soldiers, and both the inner and outer gates all disappeared in a white hot ball of vapour.
At the top of the hill the brigand leader vowed silently to himself that today's sacrifice would never be forgotten. Archie had given everything he owned for the cause. Having his family on the cart was the only way to give credibility to his story, and to gain them passage through the gate.
He raised his lance... The signal to attack.
A motley selection of powered vehicles built from parts scavenged from the contaminated land raced down the hill towards the city. On board, the brigands whooped their war cries. The weak soldiers and the soft inhabitants would soon be overrun. Archie's sacrifice had given them the city.
* * * * *
The gates have long since been replaced. Over the years the brigands and the captured inhabitants gradually integrated, until there was just a city again, just like before.
* * * * *
A group of five year old children attending their first day at school were gathered around a statue in the centre of the main square. The impressive marble sculpture of a horse and cart and four occupants, stood atop a plinth that bore the legend...
SO WE ALWAYS REMEMBER
As soon as they were old enough to understand, every child in the city was told the legendary story of Archie Lees and Troy the horse.
* * * * *
From the crest of the nearby hill, a large band of heavily armed brigands stared down at the city, at its high unclimbable walls and massive steel gates. They watched, and waited, and plotted.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 11 November 2011
Food for thought
When the cell door slammed open the human captives scrabbled in panic. Clawing over one another, fighting to get as far away from the door as possible, trying to avoid being the chosen one. The two aliens separated Simpson from the tangle of thrashing limbs and bodies, they threw him face down on the floor, grabbed a leg each, and dragged him out of the cell, slamming the door shut behind them.
Back inside the cell, the men and women cowered, whimpering, terrified. None of them knew what became of the chosen ones, only that they never returned.
Simpson struggled and screamed as he was dragged along a series of corridors. His face, hands and arms losing shreds of skin as he was scraped along the coarse metal floor. Fingernails splitting and cracking as he fought for purchase. His teeth chipping and breaking during the descent of a steep stairwell.
Eventually they entered a large room, the floor of which sloped gently down to a gaping square hole. The creatures ripped the clothing from his body, unmindful of breaking a few bones in the process, then unceremoniously threw Simpson into the hole. His smashed and bleeding nose had just enough time to register the sickly smell of rotting flesh before he landed on the spinning blades below.
Simpson continued his journey, now in the shape of thick strings of viscous mincemeat he dripped onto a second set of finer, sharper blades, then through a series of crushers, pulpers and rollers, along a conveyor where a liquid bio-electron accelerator was added, and finally through a multi-bladed blender. Simpson ended his journey as a smooth pink liquid at the bottom of a huge vat.
Several minutes later the bio-accelerator activated, and the electrons twitched into life. Minute blue sparks of electricity began to arc across surface of the pink slush, multiplying rapidly until the vat shimmered with light.
Fine wires carried the power from the vat, through the ship, and up to the bridge, where Simpson's two former escorts now stood, awaiting their commander's attention. The commander stood before a gigantic brain contained within a plastiglass dome, off to either side the walls were a mass of blank screens.
The commander watched impatiently. Eventually a small shudder ran through the brain's exterior, causing it to shiver like a shaken jelly. The screens began to flicker, and one by one lit up and started scrolling streams of data. A barely perceptible vibration ran through the ship as the massive Plasmin engines fired into life.
The commander turned to face the two crewmen, a look of deep displeasure on his face.
“If we are ever left drifting, powerless and defenceless again because you two morons forgot to feed the computer, I will personally throw both of you down the chute myself. Got it? At the end of your shift get yourselves suited and booted, for the next six weeks your leisure time will be replaced by hull scrubbing punishment. Now get out of my sight”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Back inside the cell, the men and women cowered, whimpering, terrified. None of them knew what became of the chosen ones, only that they never returned.
Simpson struggled and screamed as he was dragged along a series of corridors. His face, hands and arms losing shreds of skin as he was scraped along the coarse metal floor. Fingernails splitting and cracking as he fought for purchase. His teeth chipping and breaking during the descent of a steep stairwell.
Eventually they entered a large room, the floor of which sloped gently down to a gaping square hole. The creatures ripped the clothing from his body, unmindful of breaking a few bones in the process, then unceremoniously threw Simpson into the hole. His smashed and bleeding nose had just enough time to register the sickly smell of rotting flesh before he landed on the spinning blades below.
Simpson continued his journey, now in the shape of thick strings of viscous mincemeat he dripped onto a second set of finer, sharper blades, then through a series of crushers, pulpers and rollers, along a conveyor where a liquid bio-electron accelerator was added, and finally through a multi-bladed blender. Simpson ended his journey as a smooth pink liquid at the bottom of a huge vat.
Several minutes later the bio-accelerator activated, and the electrons twitched into life. Minute blue sparks of electricity began to arc across surface of the pink slush, multiplying rapidly until the vat shimmered with light.
Fine wires carried the power from the vat, through the ship, and up to the bridge, where Simpson's two former escorts now stood, awaiting their commander's attention. The commander stood before a gigantic brain contained within a plastiglass dome, off to either side the walls were a mass of blank screens.
The commander watched impatiently. Eventually a small shudder ran through the brain's exterior, causing it to shiver like a shaken jelly. The screens began to flicker, and one by one lit up and started scrolling streams of data. A barely perceptible vibration ran through the ship as the massive Plasmin engines fired into life.
The commander turned to face the two crewmen, a look of deep displeasure on his face.
“If we are ever left drifting, powerless and defenceless again because you two morons forgot to feed the computer, I will personally throw both of you down the chute myself. Got it? At the end of your shift get yourselves suited and booted, for the next six weeks your leisure time will be replaced by hull scrubbing punishment. Now get out of my sight”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 4 November 2011
A beer for Joe
Me an' Joe've been neighbours for over fifty years now. We watched each others families grow an' leave home to start their own. Through the years we spent some good amount of time enjoyin' each other's company, yup, we sure did. We helped each other through the grievin' when our good ladies passed on. I can't remember a time when we weren't there for each other. I guess it would be right to say we loved each other in a way.
Up until the argument, that is.
We ain't spoke a word to each other in nigh on seven years now, I can't even remember what the argument was over no more.
And here we are, two stupid stubborn old fools ignorin' each other over the fence.
Today I was gonna change all that.
Joe was sittin' on his stoop rockin' in his chair when I called from the gate.
“Joe?... D'ya mind if I come in?”
“Nope.”
Well, at least it was a start, I got an answer. I walked the length of the path and settled my old bones into the rocker next to his.
“How ya doin?” I asked him, hopin' to melt the ice a little further.
He just carried on rockin', starin' straight ahead, his mouth a straight line. Just lettin' me know he wasn't gonna be no pushover. I had made the first move, it was up to me to apologise.
“I brung some beers.” I said. “Would ya like one?”
“Nope.”
I pulled a bottle from the pack, twisted the cap off and took a slug.
“Hmmm, that hit the spot.” I wiped the froth from my mouth in an exaggerated movement. “Good beer, are ya sure ya don't want one?”
“Yup.”
“Beautiful day.” I ventured.
“Look Sam, if ya came roun' here to apologise, then say your piece.”
“Now look here....” I nearly rose like a baited trout, all fired up an' ready to shout my indignation, but managed to catch myself as I remembered what I came for.
“I didn't come to offer no apology, but ya can have one anyways... Joe, I truly am sorry for whatever it was that I done, or said. And I truly am sorry for all the years when we weren't friends no more.”
“Apology accepted. I guess I'll be havin' that beer now.”
I passed Joe a bottle over, he took it, his hand shakin' a little as he twisted the cap. Joe took a long slug then mopped the sweat from his brow with his shirt cuff.
“Yup, sure is a beautiful day.” He said. “If ya didn't come to apologise, an' don't get me wrong, I'm glad that ya did, what did bring ya roun' here?”
“I came to say goodbye.”
The words hung in the air, like dust after a shell-burst.
Joe rocked in his chair a while.
“Ya goin' somewhere?”
“I guess ya could say that, I have the C.”
Joe continued starin' straight ahead, still rockin'. When he finally spoke his voice didn't sound quite as strong.
“How long?”
“Hard to say exactly, maybe a few weeks, but more likely a few days.”
Joe took another long pull from his bottle, then wiped the sweat from his brow again. He tried, he really did try not to let me see as he caught the tear from the corner of his eye along the way.
Continued in:- A beer for Joe (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Up until the argument, that is.
We ain't spoke a word to each other in nigh on seven years now, I can't even remember what the argument was over no more.
And here we are, two stupid stubborn old fools ignorin' each other over the fence.
Today I was gonna change all that.
Joe was sittin' on his stoop rockin' in his chair when I called from the gate.
“Joe?... D'ya mind if I come in?”
“Nope.”
Well, at least it was a start, I got an answer. I walked the length of the path and settled my old bones into the rocker next to his.
“How ya doin?” I asked him, hopin' to melt the ice a little further.
He just carried on rockin', starin' straight ahead, his mouth a straight line. Just lettin' me know he wasn't gonna be no pushover. I had made the first move, it was up to me to apologise.
“I brung some beers.” I said. “Would ya like one?”
“Nope.”
I pulled a bottle from the pack, twisted the cap off and took a slug.
“Hmmm, that hit the spot.” I wiped the froth from my mouth in an exaggerated movement. “Good beer, are ya sure ya don't want one?”
“Yup.”
“Beautiful day.” I ventured.
“Look Sam, if ya came roun' here to apologise, then say your piece.”
“Now look here....” I nearly rose like a baited trout, all fired up an' ready to shout my indignation, but managed to catch myself as I remembered what I came for.
“I didn't come to offer no apology, but ya can have one anyways... Joe, I truly am sorry for whatever it was that I done, or said. And I truly am sorry for all the years when we weren't friends no more.”
“Apology accepted. I guess I'll be havin' that beer now.”
I passed Joe a bottle over, he took it, his hand shakin' a little as he twisted the cap. Joe took a long slug then mopped the sweat from his brow with his shirt cuff.
“Yup, sure is a beautiful day.” He said. “If ya didn't come to apologise, an' don't get me wrong, I'm glad that ya did, what did bring ya roun' here?”
“I came to say goodbye.”
The words hung in the air, like dust after a shell-burst.
Joe rocked in his chair a while.
“Ya goin' somewhere?”
“I guess ya could say that, I have the C.”
Joe continued starin' straight ahead, still rockin'. When he finally spoke his voice didn't sound quite as strong.
“How long?”
“Hard to say exactly, maybe a few weeks, but more likely a few days.”
Joe took another long pull from his bottle, then wiped the sweat from his brow again. He tried, he really did try not to let me see as he caught the tear from the corner of his eye along the way.
Continued in:- A beer for Joe (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 28 October 2011
She loves me, she loves me not.
He loved Halloween, one of his most favourite times of the year. A time of mysticism, of imagination, and possibly of... romance?
His expression alternated from one of pleasure to displeasure and back again as the fantasies scrolled through his mind. Like a switch flicking back and forth.
Pluck... She loves me... He let it fall to the floor, thoughts of heated lovemaking filled his mind.
Pluck... She loves me not... He let it fall, bitter argumentative words echoed in his head.
Pluck... She loves me... Warm kisses before he left for work each morning.
Pluck... She loves me not... Whispering to her friends, and laughing behind her hand.
Pluck... She loves me... A beautiful romantic candlelit meal.
Pluck... She loves me not... Withering looks when he ventured an opinion.
Pluck... She loves me... Holding hands on the back row at the cinema.
Pluck... She loves me not... Not taking his side in an argument.
Pluck... She loves me... Arm in arm strolls along a golden beach.
Pluck... She loves me not... Sarcastic comments about his manhood.
Pluck... She loves me... Running her fingers playfully through his hair.
Pluck... She loves me not... Lying about the price of those shoes.
Pluck... She loves me... Letting him have the last Rolo in the tube.
Pluck... She loves me not... Talking through his favourite movie.
Pluck... She loves me... Foregoing her TV soaps so he could watch the football match.
Pluck... She loves me not... Ridiculing his model car collection.
She'd had a full set of top teeth. Now, he knows that she doesn't have a full bottom set because he can see some gaps in there.
He flexed his aching fingers a few times causing the pliers to clickety-click-click.
He glanced down at the sixteen red and white lumps on the floor, then turned back to face her...
“Okay lady, let's find out shall we?”
Pluck....She loves me.....
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Hi everyone, and thank you for reading. This one was grisly even by my own standards, but I thought I would try to top the gross-ometer reading that I got LAST Halloween.
If anyone who missed that one is up for another grisle-fest, you can find it here:- Pumpkinhead
Happy Halloween everyone. Bwuhahahahahahah... BwuhahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
His expression alternated from one of pleasure to displeasure and back again as the fantasies scrolled through his mind. Like a switch flicking back and forth.
Pluck... She loves me... He let it fall to the floor, thoughts of heated lovemaking filled his mind.
Pluck... She loves me not... He let it fall, bitter argumentative words echoed in his head.
Pluck... She loves me... Warm kisses before he left for work each morning.
Pluck... She loves me not... Whispering to her friends, and laughing behind her hand.
Pluck... She loves me... A beautiful romantic candlelit meal.
Pluck... She loves me not... Withering looks when he ventured an opinion.
Pluck... She loves me... Holding hands on the back row at the cinema.
Pluck... She loves me not... Not taking his side in an argument.
Pluck... She loves me... Arm in arm strolls along a golden beach.
Pluck... She loves me not... Sarcastic comments about his manhood.
Pluck... She loves me... Running her fingers playfully through his hair.
Pluck... She loves me not... Lying about the price of those shoes.
Pluck... She loves me... Letting him have the last Rolo in the tube.
Pluck... She loves me not... Talking through his favourite movie.
Pluck... She loves me... Foregoing her TV soaps so he could watch the football match.
Pluck... She loves me not... Ridiculing his model car collection.
She'd had a full set of top teeth. Now, he knows that she doesn't have a full bottom set because he can see some gaps in there.
He flexed his aching fingers a few times causing the pliers to clickety-click-click.
He glanced down at the sixteen red and white lumps on the floor, then turned back to face her...
“Okay lady, let's find out shall we?”
Pluck....She loves me.....
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Hi everyone, and thank you for reading. This one was grisly even by my own standards, but I thought I would try to top the gross-ometer reading that I got LAST Halloween.
If anyone who missed that one is up for another grisle-fest, you can find it here:- Pumpkinhead
Happy Halloween everyone. Bwuhahahahahahah... BwuhahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Friday, 21 October 2011
Where spiders dare
Four fingers...
The view was magnificent from this angle. The river at the base of the cliff a meandering cotton thread sewn through the lush foliage.
Three fingers...
The passing eagle eyed me curiously, possibly wondering if this strange interloper was a threat to its nearby children.
Two fingers...
Yes, “V” for victory, or “V” for screw you. I have lived my life without fear, without limits, without a voice telling me what I couldn't do.
One finger...
The middle... the strongest, held for much longer than I expected. As it weakened and lost its hold on the tiny ledge the thought in my mind as I fell was the probable headlines...
“Casey Burbridge the world famous freestyle rock climber, known by many as The Human Spider, dies in 2,000 ft fall....”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
The view was magnificent from this angle. The river at the base of the cliff a meandering cotton thread sewn through the lush foliage.
Three fingers...
The passing eagle eyed me curiously, possibly wondering if this strange interloper was a threat to its nearby children.
Two fingers...
Yes, “V” for victory, or “V” for screw you. I have lived my life without fear, without limits, without a voice telling me what I couldn't do.
One finger...
The middle... the strongest, held for much longer than I expected. As it weakened and lost its hold on the tiny ledge the thought in my mind as I fell was the probable headlines...
“Casey Burbridge the world famous freestyle rock climber, known by many as The Human Spider, dies in 2,000 ft fall....”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Thursday, 13 October 2011
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)
Hi everyone, this is the third, and final instalment of “A Zombie's tale.” Anyone wishing to catch up on the earlier instalments can find them here:-
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
Thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)
Seventeen days later...
I went through what had come to be my morning ritual, removing the bullet from the revolver, I cleaned it, carefully replaced it, then ran the chamber across the palm of my hand setting it spinning. I closed my eyes, and when the chamber finally stopped turning I drew the hammer back with my thumb, placed the barrel in my mouth, and squeezed the trigger...
CLICK !
I guess fate doesn't want me to die today.
As I placed the revolver back onto the packing crate there came a thud from the door at the top of the stairs...
“Ah Jeez... ” It had been eleven days since there'd been any noises at the door, and I was trying to pluck up the courage to take a look outside. Courage was in short supply down here, my time in the dungeon had done something to me, taken something from me, maybe I would never find the courage to leave.
THUD!
My shredded nerves got the better of me. I screamed obscenities at the stairwell, too far gone to care any more.
THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD...THUD... THUD... THUD...
Panic started setting in, would this nightmare never end? Something snapped inside me, yes... yes.. the nightmare would end, it would end right now. I grabbed the gun and raced up the stairs...
Somewhere deep inside my terror-stricken brain I realized there were other noises mixed in with the thuds, smaller noises, muffled, almost drowned out by the banging...
I reached the door and pressed my ear against the wood, listening carefully...
THUD... THUD... THUD... “Hey, hey, is someone down there?” THUD... THUD... THUD...
A voice, a human voice, almost lost on its journey through the heavy door.
THUD... THUD...THUD... “Hey... open the door... ” THUD... THUD... THUD...
I almost wept with relief, taking a firm hold of the heavy bolt I slid it aside, the door slowly opened towards me...
Framed in the doorway was a young woman, probably in her twenties, she was filthy, streaked with blood and grime, her clothes ripped and scuffed, held loosely in her hand, and caked with dried blood and globs of gristle was the biggest, meanest-looking cleaver I have ever seen.
“Hi,” she said, a wide grin spreading across her face, “do you err... have anything to eat down there? I'm starving.”
* * * * *
Over the next hour or so, and between mouthfuls of tinned fish and fruit, she told me how she had survived the slaughter. How she had grabbed a bag of supplies, and made it up to one of the tower rooms. The zombies, unable to climb the ladder had eventually wandered off in pursuit of another resident who had stumbled past the doorway.
Several days later the sound of a heavy engine caused her to look from the window. Some of the survivors were making a run for it. One of the castle's tourist coaches was idling in the yard and several survivors were feverishly unblocking the main gate, whilst others fought bravely to keep the zombies at bay.
The gate unblocked and opened, the ones still left alive boarded the coach, which then drove off through the gate, accelerating all the time, and in a shower of splintering bones and spraying body fluids punched its way through the horde of living dead in the castle's outer grounds. The mass of inhumanity followed the fleeing vehicle, joined by the ones that had chased the residents from the castle's interior.
She had watched with horror as the coach ran off the road and into a tree about half a mile from the castle. Soon the area was a mass of writhing creatures trying to climb over each other to get at the meal now available to them.
Eventually, the feast over, the zombies had walked off in the direction of the city ruins, perhaps drawn by the sounds of moans from other living dead.
A few days later, her food gone, she had been forced to leave her hideout and scavenge the castle for supplies. Wandering through the body-strewn rooms and corridors she had encountered only a few of the living dead, usually trapped behind closed doors, she had then taken great delight in introducing them to her razor-sharp friend, which just now lay on the floor close beside her.
* * * * *
“I have a plan,” She said, “We'll re-seal the gate, then work our way through the castle room by room, drag all the bodies outside and burn them. We can survive here for years, I don't know if there is anyone else left alive or not, but I'm for staying put.”
I looked at this draggle-haired, dirt-encrusted, gore-splattered, post-apocalyptic angel before me...
She was awesome... Beautiful...
“It sounds like a good plan.” I said, my voice quivering slightly. “I don't know if names mean anything any more, but for what it's worth, my name's Adam.”
“Pleased to meet you Adam.” She smiled, that broad confident grin that had greeted me when I had opened the door.
“My name is Zigourney, yeah... I know... it was my dad's idea, I think he was a bit of a closet chav, but I prefer to go by my middle name, which was also my mother's name, it's Evelyn, in the old world my friends just used to call me Eve.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
- - - - - - - - - -
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
Thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)
Seventeen days later...
I went through what had come to be my morning ritual, removing the bullet from the revolver, I cleaned it, carefully replaced it, then ran the chamber across the palm of my hand setting it spinning. I closed my eyes, and when the chamber finally stopped turning I drew the hammer back with my thumb, placed the barrel in my mouth, and squeezed the trigger...
CLICK !
I guess fate doesn't want me to die today.
As I placed the revolver back onto the packing crate there came a thud from the door at the top of the stairs...
“Ah Jeez... ” It had been eleven days since there'd been any noises at the door, and I was trying to pluck up the courage to take a look outside. Courage was in short supply down here, my time in the dungeon had done something to me, taken something from me, maybe I would never find the courage to leave.
THUD!
My shredded nerves got the better of me. I screamed obscenities at the stairwell, too far gone to care any more.
THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD... THUD...THUD... THUD... THUD...
Panic started setting in, would this nightmare never end? Something snapped inside me, yes... yes.. the nightmare would end, it would end right now. I grabbed the gun and raced up the stairs...
Somewhere deep inside my terror-stricken brain I realized there were other noises mixed in with the thuds, smaller noises, muffled, almost drowned out by the banging...
I reached the door and pressed my ear against the wood, listening carefully...
THUD... THUD... THUD... “Hey, hey, is someone down there?” THUD... THUD... THUD...
A voice, a human voice, almost lost on its journey through the heavy door.
THUD... THUD...THUD... “Hey... open the door... ” THUD... THUD... THUD...
I almost wept with relief, taking a firm hold of the heavy bolt I slid it aside, the door slowly opened towards me...
Framed in the doorway was a young woman, probably in her twenties, she was filthy, streaked with blood and grime, her clothes ripped and scuffed, held loosely in her hand, and caked with dried blood and globs of gristle was the biggest, meanest-looking cleaver I have ever seen.
“Hi,” she said, a wide grin spreading across her face, “do you err... have anything to eat down there? I'm starving.”
* * * * *
Over the next hour or so, and between mouthfuls of tinned fish and fruit, she told me how she had survived the slaughter. How she had grabbed a bag of supplies, and made it up to one of the tower rooms. The zombies, unable to climb the ladder had eventually wandered off in pursuit of another resident who had stumbled past the doorway.
Several days later the sound of a heavy engine caused her to look from the window. Some of the survivors were making a run for it. One of the castle's tourist coaches was idling in the yard and several survivors were feverishly unblocking the main gate, whilst others fought bravely to keep the zombies at bay.
The gate unblocked and opened, the ones still left alive boarded the coach, which then drove off through the gate, accelerating all the time, and in a shower of splintering bones and spraying body fluids punched its way through the horde of living dead in the castle's outer grounds. The mass of inhumanity followed the fleeing vehicle, joined by the ones that had chased the residents from the castle's interior.
She had watched with horror as the coach ran off the road and into a tree about half a mile from the castle. Soon the area was a mass of writhing creatures trying to climb over each other to get at the meal now available to them.
Eventually, the feast over, the zombies had walked off in the direction of the city ruins, perhaps drawn by the sounds of moans from other living dead.
A few days later, her food gone, she had been forced to leave her hideout and scavenge the castle for supplies. Wandering through the body-strewn rooms and corridors she had encountered only a few of the living dead, usually trapped behind closed doors, she had then taken great delight in introducing them to her razor-sharp friend, which just now lay on the floor close beside her.
* * * * *
“I have a plan,” She said, “We'll re-seal the gate, then work our way through the castle room by room, drag all the bodies outside and burn them. We can survive here for years, I don't know if there is anyone else left alive or not, but I'm for staying put.”
I looked at this draggle-haired, dirt-encrusted, gore-splattered, post-apocalyptic angel before me...
She was awesome... Beautiful...
“It sounds like a good plan.” I said, my voice quivering slightly. “I don't know if names mean anything any more, but for what it's worth, my name's Adam.”
“Pleased to meet you Adam.” She smiled, that broad confident grin that had greeted me when I had opened the door.
“My name is Zigourney, yeah... I know... it was my dad's idea, I think he was a bit of a closet chav, but I prefer to go by my middle name, which was also my mother's name, it's Evelyn, in the old world my friends just used to call me Eve.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
- - - - - - - - - -
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
Friday, 7 October 2011
Alley fight
As I approached them the sultry-looking guy in the centre of the group gave an almost imperceptible flick of his head, a signal to the other four, who detached themselves from the alley wall and slowly positioned themselves around me until I was surrounded.
They kept their distance for now, waiting for the word to attack.
Each of them tall and well-muscled, their arms hanging loose, hands relaxed by their sides, smiles of supreme confidence on their faces as they eagerly anticipated what was to come.
I glanced across at their boss, as our eyes locked his mouth twisted into a sneer of contempt.
With a click of his tongue and another twitch of his head the others started closing in.
Taking two rapid steps towards the one directly in front of me, I deflected the punch aimed at my face, grabbing the wrist and pulling at the same time, dragging him forward even faster, off balance now. Twisting my body, I planted my elbow solidly into his temple, then pushed hard as he fell, throwing him at the feet of the one to my right, tripping him, slowing him down.
The first guy hit the floor hard, he didn't get back up.
I spun round, fast, my right leg lashing out, sweeping the one on the left off his feet, continuing the spin I circled the leg into the air, and brought it down savagely onto his head as it hit the ground.
Less than than a minute gone... Two down.
Both of the others took on a more cautious stance now, I backed up a few paces, giving myself more space away from the bodies on the ground, and at the same time putting the other two within my line of sight.
The one slightly to my left aimed a very hard front kick at my solar plexus.
Too slow amigo...
Grabbing the outstretched foot I continued it along its momentum arc, and pushed it higher into the air, then planted a solid kick straight into his groin. Stepping forward a pace I thrust a strong palm strike into his chin, and pushed the foot back at the same time.
He staggered backwards, hit the alley wall hard, slumped to the ground, and stayed there.
I heard the unmistakable sound of a switch-blade opening as I turned to face the last man standing.
He closed in slowly...
Holding the knife at arms length in front of him...
I stayed where I was, waiting, let him come to me...
I readied myself, hands held loose and relaxed at chest height...
He came in fast, Rapidly feinted left, then right, then left again...
As he thrust the blade forward I brushed it to my right, then went straight into his knee with the heel of my shoe, as he started going down I grabbed him, twisted him round then threw my arm around his neck from behind, holding him in a vice-like headlock, and squeezed....
His struggles soon weakened and in less than a minute I let him slump to the alley floor.
I turned to face the boss.
He gave me a wide, confident smile as he pulled the .45 from inside his jacket.
He stepped away from the wall as he raised the gun.
I made a dash towards him, I was still several feet short when the gun bucked in his hand.
“CUT!.... CUT!...
How many times do I have to TELL you? Wait until he GRABS the gun before you pull the trigger, JEEZ, we're gonna have just ONE more go at this, if you screw it up again you're off the set, I don't give a rat's ass HOW big a star you are, you're HISTORY, GOT it?”
As we all returned to our start positions I went through the routine in my head once more, the “Star” leant back against the wall, the brooding good lucks that had been his passport to stardom now seemed a trifle too sulky for a twenty four year old to be sporting.
The electronic clapper-board bore the legend, 'Alley fight scene Take 57'.
“Okay, from the top, LIGHTS... CAMERA... ACTION...”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
They kept their distance for now, waiting for the word to attack.
Each of them tall and well-muscled, their arms hanging loose, hands relaxed by their sides, smiles of supreme confidence on their faces as they eagerly anticipated what was to come.
I glanced across at their boss, as our eyes locked his mouth twisted into a sneer of contempt.
With a click of his tongue and another twitch of his head the others started closing in.
Taking two rapid steps towards the one directly in front of me, I deflected the punch aimed at my face, grabbing the wrist and pulling at the same time, dragging him forward even faster, off balance now. Twisting my body, I planted my elbow solidly into his temple, then pushed hard as he fell, throwing him at the feet of the one to my right, tripping him, slowing him down.
The first guy hit the floor hard, he didn't get back up.
I spun round, fast, my right leg lashing out, sweeping the one on the left off his feet, continuing the spin I circled the leg into the air, and brought it down savagely onto his head as it hit the ground.
Less than than a minute gone... Two down.
Both of the others took on a more cautious stance now, I backed up a few paces, giving myself more space away from the bodies on the ground, and at the same time putting the other two within my line of sight.
The one slightly to my left aimed a very hard front kick at my solar plexus.
Too slow amigo...
Grabbing the outstretched foot I continued it along its momentum arc, and pushed it higher into the air, then planted a solid kick straight into his groin. Stepping forward a pace I thrust a strong palm strike into his chin, and pushed the foot back at the same time.
He staggered backwards, hit the alley wall hard, slumped to the ground, and stayed there.
I heard the unmistakable sound of a switch-blade opening as I turned to face the last man standing.
He closed in slowly...
Holding the knife at arms length in front of him...
I stayed where I was, waiting, let him come to me...
I readied myself, hands held loose and relaxed at chest height...
He came in fast, Rapidly feinted left, then right, then left again...
As he thrust the blade forward I brushed it to my right, then went straight into his knee with the heel of my shoe, as he started going down I grabbed him, twisted him round then threw my arm around his neck from behind, holding him in a vice-like headlock, and squeezed....
His struggles soon weakened and in less than a minute I let him slump to the alley floor.
I turned to face the boss.
He gave me a wide, confident smile as he pulled the .45 from inside his jacket.
He stepped away from the wall as he raised the gun.
I made a dash towards him, I was still several feet short when the gun bucked in his hand.
“CUT!.... CUT!...
How many times do I have to TELL you? Wait until he GRABS the gun before you pull the trigger, JEEZ, we're gonna have just ONE more go at this, if you screw it up again you're off the set, I don't give a rat's ass HOW big a star you are, you're HISTORY, GOT it?”
As we all returned to our start positions I went through the routine in my head once more, the “Star” leant back against the wall, the brooding good lucks that had been his passport to stardom now seemed a trifle too sulky for a twenty four year old to be sporting.
The electronic clapper-board bore the legend, 'Alley fight scene Take 57'.
“Okay, from the top, LIGHTS... CAMERA... ACTION...”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Thursday, 29 September 2011
The best thing I can do
“It really is scary... y'know... the way things are goin'?” He said, his voice rising slightly on the last word, more a question than a statement.
I looked across the table at Tom, it was seven thirty in the morning, the first coffee of the day had barely started buzzing my brain, I had to be at work in an hour, I didn't want to listen about the world's problems.
“I'm not scared.” I said to him, “I have too much crap on my own plate to think about, unpaid bills crap, work crap, busted car crap, ex-wife crap, and oh yeah, more unpaid bills crap.”
“But just look at the situation,” He persisted, “most of Europe is paralysed with riots, unemployment is the highest it's ever been, there's massive military build-up on the India-Pakistan border, there was a facebook leak that Israel have gone to red alert, the new Iranian government has thrown out the UN inspectors, the Chinese and American economies are both on the brink of bankruptcy. I think we're heading towards total global meltdown.”
I propped my elbows on the table, let my face fall into my hands and let loose a long heartfelt sigh, after a few seconds I stood and walked out of the back door and up to the shed, opened the door and started pulling things out.
Tom walked up and stood beside me, a bemused look on his face. “What're you doin'?” He said.
“Given the circumstances,” I replied, “I'm doing the best thing I can do.”
“What's that? Getting the spade to start diggin' a shelter?”
I found the item I was looking for. “ No,” I said, dragging the rod out. “I'm going fishing.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Author's note:-
Hi everyone, I'm going away for a couple of days, yup, you guessed it, I'm going fishing, so I'll be catching up with the reading and commenting sometime on Sunday. Have a great weekend, and thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
I looked across the table at Tom, it was seven thirty in the morning, the first coffee of the day had barely started buzzing my brain, I had to be at work in an hour, I didn't want to listen about the world's problems.
“I'm not scared.” I said to him, “I have too much crap on my own plate to think about, unpaid bills crap, work crap, busted car crap, ex-wife crap, and oh yeah, more unpaid bills crap.”
“But just look at the situation,” He persisted, “most of Europe is paralysed with riots, unemployment is the highest it's ever been, there's massive military build-up on the India-Pakistan border, there was a facebook leak that Israel have gone to red alert, the new Iranian government has thrown out the UN inspectors, the Chinese and American economies are both on the brink of bankruptcy. I think we're heading towards total global meltdown.”
I propped my elbows on the table, let my face fall into my hands and let loose a long heartfelt sigh, after a few seconds I stood and walked out of the back door and up to the shed, opened the door and started pulling things out.
Tom walked up and stood beside me, a bemused look on his face. “What're you doin'?” He said.
“Given the circumstances,” I replied, “I'm doing the best thing I can do.”
“What's that? Getting the spade to start diggin' a shelter?”
I found the item I was looking for. “ No,” I said, dragging the rod out. “I'm going fishing.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Author's note:-
Hi everyone, I'm going away for a couple of days, yup, you guessed it, I'm going fishing, so I'll be catching up with the reading and commenting sometime on Sunday. Have a great weekend, and thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
Friday, 23 September 2011
Beartrap
The shock had set in now, and was doing a good job of numbing the pain, the first thoughts in his mind when the teeth snapped onto his ankle weren't of pain or fear, but to roundly curse his own stupid clumsiness for stepping into his own beartrap.
If he could get the damn thing off, or pull the stake from the ground he'd be able to make it back to the house and use the phone. No go. No amount of pushing or pulling achieved either, he just didn't have the strength left.
For several nights the creature had visited his farm, tearing his stock to pieces, he hadn't managed to spot the cursed thing yet, but there was no mistaking the snarling bark that echoed around the nearby woods throughout the dark hours.
At first he thought it must be a cougar or wolf, but the tracks had told the story of a beast that walked on two legs not four, and no animal he had ever known would tear the animals limb from limb like that.
He tore a ribbon of cloth from his shirt and fashioned a tourniquet tightly around his leg a few inches above the steel, then considered his next move.
His rifle was propped against a nearby tree trunk, so close and yet unreachable, rendering it useless as either a means of defence or signal.
Shouting and screaming had brought no-one, his farm was far from anywhere, and people coming this way were few and far between.
He was still there when the sun went down, as the daylight began to fade, and dusk started to creep over the woods he heard it.....
The first snarl came from a long way off, probably from partway up the mountainside, he listened in abject terror as the sound echoed around the hills.
The second time he heard it he was pretty sure it came from the foothills at the base of the mountain, panic started setting in....
He eyed the strip of white skin between the steel and cloth....
The snarl came again, louder... closer...
All reasoning lost now, he pulled the large, razor-sharp hunting knife from its sheath and began hacking feverishly at his leg....
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
If he could get the damn thing off, or pull the stake from the ground he'd be able to make it back to the house and use the phone. No go. No amount of pushing or pulling achieved either, he just didn't have the strength left.
For several nights the creature had visited his farm, tearing his stock to pieces, he hadn't managed to spot the cursed thing yet, but there was no mistaking the snarling bark that echoed around the nearby woods throughout the dark hours.
At first he thought it must be a cougar or wolf, but the tracks had told the story of a beast that walked on two legs not four, and no animal he had ever known would tear the animals limb from limb like that.
He tore a ribbon of cloth from his shirt and fashioned a tourniquet tightly around his leg a few inches above the steel, then considered his next move.
His rifle was propped against a nearby tree trunk, so close and yet unreachable, rendering it useless as either a means of defence or signal.
Shouting and screaming had brought no-one, his farm was far from anywhere, and people coming this way were few and far between.
He was still there when the sun went down, as the daylight began to fade, and dusk started to creep over the woods he heard it.....
The first snarl came from a long way off, probably from partway up the mountainside, he listened in abject terror as the sound echoed around the hills.
The second time he heard it he was pretty sure it came from the foothills at the base of the mountain, panic started setting in....
He eyed the strip of white skin between the steel and cloth....
The snarl came again, louder... closer...
All reasoning lost now, he pulled the large, razor-sharp hunting knife from its sheath and began hacking feverishly at his leg....
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 16 September 2011
Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
Author's note :-
Hi everyone, this week is my first anniversary of posting on #fridayflash, a year in which I have had so much enjoyment being part of the #fridayflash community. The reading, writing, posting and receiving comments, and of course the banter. Thank you to everyone for visiting, and taking the time to check out my stories over the past year.
My debut story on #fridayflash was posted on 17th of September 2010, and was entitled “A Zombie's tale” And so to mark the milestone I decided to write “Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)"
Anyone wishing to read the first part of the story can find it here :-
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Thank you for reading.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
I didn't feel any guilt at deciding to save my own skin, I mean, no-one else was going to do it for me were they?
I had done my share of the fighting, pretty much a losing battle from the start. We never really got on top of the situation. Always retreating, room by room, corridor by corridor, our numbers dwindling as the enemies' grew.
When it first started we were taken by surprise, many of the castle's residents had been partying the night before, and by the time they had half-awoken in their hangover fug it had already been too late for them, and so even before any sort of defence could be initiated the zombies' numbers had already risen rapidly, as they continued to do so over the first few hours.
Six days later... and what small groups of humans were left were holed up in various rooms scattered around the castle, barricaded in, mostly with very little food or water, very little if any ammunition left, very little hope left too for that matter.
The zombie horde shambling around the corridors, or battering at the barricades must number well over three hundred by now. Pretty much a grim situation.
Four of us had fought our retreat down a stone stairway, pushed backwards by the sheer weight of numbers. By the time I reached the heavy door at the bottom I was the only one left, the only one that could be classed as human anyway.
I slammed the door shut behind me and slid the thick steel bolt into place, then continued down another flight of steps into what I discovered to be a sprawling dungeon converted into several storerooms.
It would seem fortune smiled on me this day, or smirked on me maybe, time would tell.
Investigating my surroundings I discovered crates of tinned meat and fish, bottled water and cola, dried fruit, cartons of crisps, enough to feed me for months.
Further investigation turned up a veritable treasure trove of useful items. Blankets, candles, cutlery, just about everything I would need to sit out a long siege. But unfortunately, no weapons or ammunition.
Bumps and thuds came from the top of the stairs, no worry, that door would hold.
I sat on a crate of tinned fruit, and reviewed the events of the past few days.
No-one knew for sure how the zombies had got into the castle, the walls were too high for them to scale, and the massive doors were still intact and braced.
I heard a rumour that the teenager and his parents who lived over at the east wing were the first victims, and that it had spread from there.
That kid was one weird piece of work, he had a way of looking at you, with a strange smile on his face, as though he knew something that you didn't, and he was smug enough to want to blurt it out but smart enough not to. I wouldn't even be surprised if he had let the virus in on purpose as some kind of psychotic joke.
The only thing I could do now was wait, eventually the zombies currently clawing at the dungeon door may die of starvation, although I didn't hold out much hope for that, or they may be distracted by other survivors, or wander off in search of easier prey.
There was only one way out of here, and that was back up the steps and through the door I came in. I was well supplied, and had nothing but time on my hands...
So I guess I'll just wait...
I removed the revolver from my waistband and checked the load, I was surprised to discover there was still one live round left...
I was wrong, there were two ways out of here.
- - - - - - - - - -
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Hi everyone, this week is my first anniversary of posting on #fridayflash, a year in which I have had so much enjoyment being part of the #fridayflash community. The reading, writing, posting and receiving comments, and of course the banter. Thank you to everyone for visiting, and taking the time to check out my stories over the past year.
My debut story on #fridayflash was posted on 17th of September 2010, and was entitled “A Zombie's tale” And so to mark the milestone I decided to write “Zurvivor (A Zombie's tale Part 2)"
Anyone wishing to read the first part of the story can find it here :-
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Thank you for reading.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Zurvivor. (A Zombie's tale Part 2)
I didn't feel any guilt at deciding to save my own skin, I mean, no-one else was going to do it for me were they?
I had done my share of the fighting, pretty much a losing battle from the start. We never really got on top of the situation. Always retreating, room by room, corridor by corridor, our numbers dwindling as the enemies' grew.
When it first started we were taken by surprise, many of the castle's residents had been partying the night before, and by the time they had half-awoken in their hangover fug it had already been too late for them, and so even before any sort of defence could be initiated the zombies' numbers had already risen rapidly, as they continued to do so over the first few hours.
Six days later... and what small groups of humans were left were holed up in various rooms scattered around the castle, barricaded in, mostly with very little food or water, very little if any ammunition left, very little hope left too for that matter.
The zombie horde shambling around the corridors, or battering at the barricades must number well over three hundred by now. Pretty much a grim situation.
Four of us had fought our retreat down a stone stairway, pushed backwards by the sheer weight of numbers. By the time I reached the heavy door at the bottom I was the only one left, the only one that could be classed as human anyway.
I slammed the door shut behind me and slid the thick steel bolt into place, then continued down another flight of steps into what I discovered to be a sprawling dungeon converted into several storerooms.
It would seem fortune smiled on me this day, or smirked on me maybe, time would tell.
Investigating my surroundings I discovered crates of tinned meat and fish, bottled water and cola, dried fruit, cartons of crisps, enough to feed me for months.
Further investigation turned up a veritable treasure trove of useful items. Blankets, candles, cutlery, just about everything I would need to sit out a long siege. But unfortunately, no weapons or ammunition.
Bumps and thuds came from the top of the stairs, no worry, that door would hold.
I sat on a crate of tinned fruit, and reviewed the events of the past few days.
No-one knew for sure how the zombies had got into the castle, the walls were too high for them to scale, and the massive doors were still intact and braced.
I heard a rumour that the teenager and his parents who lived over at the east wing were the first victims, and that it had spread from there.
That kid was one weird piece of work, he had a way of looking at you, with a strange smile on his face, as though he knew something that you didn't, and he was smug enough to want to blurt it out but smart enough not to. I wouldn't even be surprised if he had let the virus in on purpose as some kind of psychotic joke.
The only thing I could do now was wait, eventually the zombies currently clawing at the dungeon door may die of starvation, although I didn't hold out much hope for that, or they may be distracted by other survivors, or wander off in search of easier prey.
There was only one way out of here, and that was back up the steps and through the door I came in. I was well supplied, and had nothing but time on my hands...
So I guess I'll just wait...
I removed the revolver from my waistband and checked the load, I was surprised to discover there was still one live round left...
I was wrong, there were two ways out of here.
- - - - - - - - - -
A Zombie's tale. (Part 1)
Zigourney. (A Zombie's tale Part 3)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 9 September 2011
An unimaginable thing
My question is this...
If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...
To do an unimaginable thing...
Would you do it?
When the question was asked of me I was unemployed, I was deeply in debt, I was living alone, I had no immediate family, I had no close friends, I owned very little in the way of material things. No-one cared for me, and in return, I cared for no-one.
What could possibly be asked of me that would hurt anyone or anything that I cared about?
So I accepted.
As I sit here sipping champagne on the foredeck of my yacht, with a warm mediterranean breeze gently tousling my hair, I cast my mind back over events of the last two years.
The exotic places I have visited, the exciting things I have done, the rich and famous people I have met, the sheer amount of money I have spent.
I look around at the luxurious trappings that surround me, at the beautiful vista, at the clear blue sunlit sky...
And once again, like a lightning strike, the guilt and shame punches into me...
The absolute horror of what I have done hits me again and again and again, like hammer blows.
The champagne leaves a bitter, sour taste on my tongue, the riches and possessions have brought no pleasure to my life, no happiness, no satisfaction.
All I have seen... all I have done... all seem a worthless waste.
The truth of the words “When you sup with the devil, use a long spoon.” Haunts my thoughts.
There has not been one single solitary day over those two years when I haven't wished that I could turn back the clock to the time before I said yes.
So, my question is this...
If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...
To do an unimaginable thing...
Would you do it?
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...
To do an unimaginable thing...
Would you do it?
When the question was asked of me I was unemployed, I was deeply in debt, I was living alone, I had no immediate family, I had no close friends, I owned very little in the way of material things. No-one cared for me, and in return, I cared for no-one.
What could possibly be asked of me that would hurt anyone or anything that I cared about?
So I accepted.
As I sit here sipping champagne on the foredeck of my yacht, with a warm mediterranean breeze gently tousling my hair, I cast my mind back over events of the last two years.
The exotic places I have visited, the exciting things I have done, the rich and famous people I have met, the sheer amount of money I have spent.
I look around at the luxurious trappings that surround me, at the beautiful vista, at the clear blue sunlit sky...
And once again, like a lightning strike, the guilt and shame punches into me...
The absolute horror of what I have done hits me again and again and again, like hammer blows.
The champagne leaves a bitter, sour taste on my tongue, the riches and possessions have brought no pleasure to my life, no happiness, no satisfaction.
All I have seen... all I have done... all seem a worthless waste.
The truth of the words “When you sup with the devil, use a long spoon.” Haunts my thoughts.
There has not been one single solitary day over those two years when I haven't wished that I could turn back the clock to the time before I said yes.
So, my question is this...
If someone offered you an unlimited amount of money...
To do an unimaginable thing...
Would you do it?
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 2 September 2011
Addictions
My drinking and other vices were becoming increasingly expensive, and my meagre unemployment benefit just didn't stretch to pay for them, so like any self-respecting person, I looked for a way to generate a second income to keep my pleasures supplied.
A career in burglary suited me right down to the ground. The hours were minimal, the pay was usually good, and there was no overheads and no nagging bosses on my case.
One afternoon I broke into what I thought would be an unoccupied premises, as I prowled from room to room I came across a partly open door, and could hear slight movements coming from within, I turned to sneak away but some kind of irresistible force seemed to grip me and draw me involuntarily to the doorway.
I took a peek inside and saw a semicircle of chairs, most of them occupied, by men and women of varying ages.
Seemingly from nowhere a hand gently grasped my arm and ushered me inside, the owner of the hand was a stunningly beautiful redhead, with the strangest brown eyes I have ever seen, I swear I could see flames dancing in them.
“Sit down, sit down, we'll be starting in just a few moments.”
Her voice was rich, and sweet-sounding, images of drizzling honey filled my thoughts.
I sat down nervously, hoping to sneak out after whatever was about to start, had started.
A minute or two later a fat, balding man, with a bright red nose stood up...
“My name is Tom, and I am an alcoholic........”
“Oh dung in a bucket, this is all I need.” I thought, and stood to leave.
“Please... sit down,” said the redhead, “you're among friends here.”
Images of sweet, sweet honey drizzled into my brain again.
“No...” I stammered, “I really don't belong here.”
The honey began to crystallize, to harden... to splinter and crack...
“Oh, I think you do.” She said, and her fiery stare burned into the depths of my soul. “NOW.... SIT.... DOWN.”
And that my friends, is the story of how I took the first step on the road to becoming teetotal.
How I got off the heroin, the cigarettes, and the solvent abuse?
Well, that's for another day.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
A career in burglary suited me right down to the ground. The hours were minimal, the pay was usually good, and there was no overheads and no nagging bosses on my case.
One afternoon I broke into what I thought would be an unoccupied premises, as I prowled from room to room I came across a partly open door, and could hear slight movements coming from within, I turned to sneak away but some kind of irresistible force seemed to grip me and draw me involuntarily to the doorway.
I took a peek inside and saw a semicircle of chairs, most of them occupied, by men and women of varying ages.
Seemingly from nowhere a hand gently grasped my arm and ushered me inside, the owner of the hand was a stunningly beautiful redhead, with the strangest brown eyes I have ever seen, I swear I could see flames dancing in them.
“Sit down, sit down, we'll be starting in just a few moments.”
Her voice was rich, and sweet-sounding, images of drizzling honey filled my thoughts.
I sat down nervously, hoping to sneak out after whatever was about to start, had started.
A minute or two later a fat, balding man, with a bright red nose stood up...
“My name is Tom, and I am an alcoholic........”
“Oh dung in a bucket, this is all I need.” I thought, and stood to leave.
“Please... sit down,” said the redhead, “you're among friends here.”
Images of sweet, sweet honey drizzled into my brain again.
“No...” I stammered, “I really don't belong here.”
The honey began to crystallize, to harden... to splinter and crack...
“Oh, I think you do.” She said, and her fiery stare burned into the depths of my soul. “NOW.... SIT.... DOWN.”
And that my friends, is the story of how I took the first step on the road to becoming teetotal.
How I got off the heroin, the cigarettes, and the solvent abuse?
Well, that's for another day.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 26 August 2011
47 Days
I stepped through the doorway into a white corridor which stretched off into the distance.
I glanced backward over my shoulder and watched the door quietly close behind me, the door too was white, and handle-less.
I didn't spare a thought as to why I was here, I knew that the answers would be revealed when the time was right.
I began to walk.
The corridor never varied. Walls, floor and ceiling a uniform shade of white that stopped just short of being a glare.
I didn't worry that the temperature never altered, despite my nakedness I felt neither warm nor cold. The floor was the same temperature as my bare feet, which gave the sensation of walking on nothing. When I touched the walls there was no texture, only more of the sameness.
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
My internal clock counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours and days.
Just keep walking.
I didn't think about the strangeness of not feeling the urge to eat, or drink, or sleep, or defecate, or urinate.
Just keep walking.
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
Although I didn't pass anyone else in the corridor, I never felt any sense of loneliness, or isolation.
Just keep walking.
Twenty three days, eleven hours, sixteen minutes, four seconds...
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
Just keep walking.
Forty seven days, three minutes, seven seconds...
A large signpost stood in the corridor, effectively blocking my way, peering through the narrow gap at the side I could see the corridor stretching away into the distance exactly the same as before.
I stood looking at the signpost, feeling calm, somewhat detached. I just knew that whatever happened, if anything happened, it would be the right thing.
A shadow appeared on the smooth, white surface of the signpost.
The shadow darkened, solidified, became readable, the words said simply...
“GO BACK”
I turned around in the corridor to face the direction I had come from, and there, just a few paces away was the white, handle-less door, the door stood ajar revealing a bright light on the other side.
I stepped through the doorway into a blurred kaleidoscope of moving colours, and the sounds of faraway voices, and a cacophony of bleeps, beeps, pings and burbles.
A bright moving light shone into my right eye, moved to my left eye...
“Just relax, just relax, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna make it...”
The voice seemed to come from the moving blur hovering over me... which slowly, slowly began to resemble a face.
Over the next few days I learnt about the accident, and all the other details.
The doctor said it was some kind of miracle.
“You were forty seven days in a coma, total body shutdown, permission had been given to turn off the Life Support Unit. I actually had my hand on the switch ready to pull the plug...
And you opened your eyes.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
I glanced backward over my shoulder and watched the door quietly close behind me, the door too was white, and handle-less.
I didn't spare a thought as to why I was here, I knew that the answers would be revealed when the time was right.
I began to walk.
The corridor never varied. Walls, floor and ceiling a uniform shade of white that stopped just short of being a glare.
I didn't worry that the temperature never altered, despite my nakedness I felt neither warm nor cold. The floor was the same temperature as my bare feet, which gave the sensation of walking on nothing. When I touched the walls there was no texture, only more of the sameness.
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
My internal clock counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours and days.
Just keep walking.
I didn't think about the strangeness of not feeling the urge to eat, or drink, or sleep, or defecate, or urinate.
Just keep walking.
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
Although I didn't pass anyone else in the corridor, I never felt any sense of loneliness, or isolation.
Just keep walking.
Twenty three days, eleven hours, sixteen minutes, four seconds...
One Elephant... Two Elephant... Three Elephant...
Just keep walking.
Forty seven days, three minutes, seven seconds...
A large signpost stood in the corridor, effectively blocking my way, peering through the narrow gap at the side I could see the corridor stretching away into the distance exactly the same as before.
I stood looking at the signpost, feeling calm, somewhat detached. I just knew that whatever happened, if anything happened, it would be the right thing.
A shadow appeared on the smooth, white surface of the signpost.
The shadow darkened, solidified, became readable, the words said simply...
“GO BACK”
I turned around in the corridor to face the direction I had come from, and there, just a few paces away was the white, handle-less door, the door stood ajar revealing a bright light on the other side.
I stepped through the doorway into a blurred kaleidoscope of moving colours, and the sounds of faraway voices, and a cacophony of bleeps, beeps, pings and burbles.
A bright moving light shone into my right eye, moved to my left eye...
“Just relax, just relax, you're gonna be okay, you're gonna make it...”
The voice seemed to come from the moving blur hovering over me... which slowly, slowly began to resemble a face.
Over the next few days I learnt about the accident, and all the other details.
The doctor said it was some kind of miracle.
“You were forty seven days in a coma, total body shutdown, permission had been given to turn off the Life Support Unit. I actually had my hand on the switch ready to pull the plug...
And you opened your eyes.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 19 August 2011
Neighbours
I live in a very quiet cul-de-sac.
My elderly next door neighbour was very sweet.
The middle-aged couple on the other side were bitter.
George and Maria at number 22 were rich.
Frederick at number 16 was a sour old git.
Janice Almondey-Smythe at number 11 was a lady of great taste.
In contrast the Belmonts at number 9 were very tasteless people.
The big bully and his overbearing wife at number 23 were tough.
The young man who resided at number 4 was a very tender person.
Robert and Glynis from number 12 were like chalk and cheese.
The big-bosomed wife at number 8 was a real dish.
Whilst I found her compulsive liar of a husband a bit hard to swallow.
Eighty-odd year old Peterson from number 17 was a crabby old bugger.
I didn't like the widow from number 13 at all, but her son was quite nice.
A new girl has just moved into number 27, I can't wait to get my teeth into her and find out if she's as tasty as she looks.
Mwuhahahahahahaha.... MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
P.S. I'm going away for a couple of days so I'll be a bit late catching up with reading and replying this week. Have a great weekend everyone.
Steve.
My elderly next door neighbour was very sweet.
The middle-aged couple on the other side were bitter.
George and Maria at number 22 were rich.
Frederick at number 16 was a sour old git.
Janice Almondey-Smythe at number 11 was a lady of great taste.
In contrast the Belmonts at number 9 were very tasteless people.
The big bully and his overbearing wife at number 23 were tough.
The young man who resided at number 4 was a very tender person.
Robert and Glynis from number 12 were like chalk and cheese.
The big-bosomed wife at number 8 was a real dish.
Whilst I found her compulsive liar of a husband a bit hard to swallow.
Eighty-odd year old Peterson from number 17 was a crabby old bugger.
I didn't like the widow from number 13 at all, but her son was quite nice.
A new girl has just moved into number 27, I can't wait to get my teeth into her and find out if she's as tasty as she looks.
Mwuhahahahahahaha.... MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
P.S. I'm going away for a couple of days so I'll be a bit late catching up with reading and replying this week. Have a great weekend everyone.
Steve.
Friday, 12 August 2011
A waste of pain
Jack had been strapped to the table for almost three days now, the exquisite pain and suffering he had endured were almost over, he would be dead soon, his body had had enough, his mind and will had had enough. Throughout the agony he hadn't spoken a single word, hadn't given his torturers one single shred of information.
They had snatched him from outside the government building where he worked.
A chemical sprayed into his eyes, handcuffed, and thrown into a van, it had happened so unbelievably quickly.
The constant questions were of a military nature, where were the silos? What was the stand off capability? How many troops? Where were the heads of command situated?
Jack had all the answers, and he would have given them to stop the pain, he worked on the computers and had access to the information they sought, and they knew this.
What they didn't know was that Jack had been a deaf mute from birth, and although he could lip-read perfectly, the unwise choice of chemical spray his abductors had used had burned deep into Jack's pupils, the poor man never regained his sight.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
They had snatched him from outside the government building where he worked.
A chemical sprayed into his eyes, handcuffed, and thrown into a van, it had happened so unbelievably quickly.
The constant questions were of a military nature, where were the silos? What was the stand off capability? How many troops? Where were the heads of command situated?
Jack had all the answers, and he would have given them to stop the pain, he worked on the computers and had access to the information they sought, and they knew this.
What they didn't know was that Jack had been a deaf mute from birth, and although he could lip-read perfectly, the unwise choice of chemical spray his abductors had used had burned deep into Jack's pupils, the poor man never regained his sight.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 5 August 2011
Off the boil
Lance hadn't been able to sit down for over a week now, in fact he had been able to do hardly anything, the rather large, and extremely painful boil on his right buttock was ruining his life. He could manage to sit by perching his left buttock on the seat, but the pain caused by the skin being taut meant that even this position couldn't be held for very long, so he had taken to standing to do just about everything, the cream that the doctor had prescribed may just as well have been rubbed onto the carpet for all the effect it had on the boil.
He had to sleep on his stomach, without covers, but was awoken screaming several times each night as he rolled over in his sleep. The touch of any fabric against the offending, fist-sized lump was agonising, so Lance had to cut a hole in his only pair of jeans just so he didn't have to walk about semi-naked all the time, which he didn't mind so much, but he couldn't afford the extra heating costs.
The constant pain, and the sheer exhaustion caused by being on his feet all day, combined with the lack of sleep, were beginning to take their toll, and poor Lance was becoming run down and depressed.
Thoughts of suicide were trickling through Lance's mind as he stepped out of the shower, straight onto a patch of previously spilt shower gel, both legs flew high into the air, and he landed heavily on his backside, the pitch of his scream almost hit ultrasonic as the boil splattered an impressive amount of blood and pus in every direction across the tiled floor.
A few minutes later the pain had dulled to a bearable level, and Lance whistled cheerfully to himself as he stepped back into the shower, and began to wash the red and yellow goo from his freshly de-boiled bum, thinking to himself that falling on your arse wasn't always a bad thing.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
He had to sleep on his stomach, without covers, but was awoken screaming several times each night as he rolled over in his sleep. The touch of any fabric against the offending, fist-sized lump was agonising, so Lance had to cut a hole in his only pair of jeans just so he didn't have to walk about semi-naked all the time, which he didn't mind so much, but he couldn't afford the extra heating costs.
The constant pain, and the sheer exhaustion caused by being on his feet all day, combined with the lack of sleep, were beginning to take their toll, and poor Lance was becoming run down and depressed.
Thoughts of suicide were trickling through Lance's mind as he stepped out of the shower, straight onto a patch of previously spilt shower gel, both legs flew high into the air, and he landed heavily on his backside, the pitch of his scream almost hit ultrasonic as the boil splattered an impressive amount of blood and pus in every direction across the tiled floor.
A few minutes later the pain had dulled to a bearable level, and Lance whistled cheerfully to himself as he stepped back into the shower, and began to wash the red and yellow goo from his freshly de-boiled bum, thinking to himself that falling on your arse wasn't always a bad thing.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 29 July 2011
Dust (Part 2)
Part 1 can be found here:- Dust (Part 1)
Swarm commander Zerki felt a warm glow of satisfaction as he surveyed his attack force, the billions of craft were a magnificent and awesome sight as they flooded towards the major dwelling area.
This was to be the first strike, a test of strategy. He was confident of success, and once the tactics were proven the main force would land and the rest of the planet would quickly fall in the same way.
These were by far the physically largest dominant species they had encountered in their sweep across the galaxy, and stealth rather than fire-power would win this immense, mineral-rich world for them. The massive supplies of natural resources the planet held would feed and supply the swarms for millennia.
The planners had calculated the population of the dwelling area to be in the region of one point three million, his strike-force outnumbered them by over a thousand to one, it needed only one of his brave warriors to guide his craft into a body orifice and release the neurotoxin and the enemy's central nervous system would shut down completely in a matter of seconds.
Panic and confusion would be in their favour too, their smaller size would work to their advantage, the enemy would have great difficulty fighting back against a foe that was virtually invisible to them.
Commander Zerki had commanded many attack swarms on many planets, always finding and exploiting the enemy's weakness, victorious in every invasion.
He watched with pride as the swarm began to disperse and the individual strike teams peeled off to begin the hunt.
Before long total chaos consumed the city, people were dropping by the thousand, car and lorry drivers collapsed at the wheels of moving vehicles adding to the general carnage and mayhem. Injured and frightened people jammed the switchboards to no longer functioning emergency services. The word went out of a possible major terrorist attack, maybe chemical or viral - no one knew.
A few hours later Commander Zerki spearheaded his swarm towards the next major dwelling area, leaving behind just a few hundred thousand warriors to hunt down and exterminate the remaining survivors, and to purge the surrounding minor dwelling areas of the dominant species, his mission had been a total success. He punched the keys and sent the broadcast.
Hundreds of massive motherships hovering invisible above the planet Earth opened the vents in their cloaking shields, and began releasing the thousands of main battle-swarms.
Humankind was about to experience a dust-storm the likes of which it had never seen.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Dust (Part 1)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Swarm commander Zerki felt a warm glow of satisfaction as he surveyed his attack force, the billions of craft were a magnificent and awesome sight as they flooded towards the major dwelling area.
This was to be the first strike, a test of strategy. He was confident of success, and once the tactics were proven the main force would land and the rest of the planet would quickly fall in the same way.
These were by far the physically largest dominant species they had encountered in their sweep across the galaxy, and stealth rather than fire-power would win this immense, mineral-rich world for them. The massive supplies of natural resources the planet held would feed and supply the swarms for millennia.
The planners had calculated the population of the dwelling area to be in the region of one point three million, his strike-force outnumbered them by over a thousand to one, it needed only one of his brave warriors to guide his craft into a body orifice and release the neurotoxin and the enemy's central nervous system would shut down completely in a matter of seconds.
Panic and confusion would be in their favour too, their smaller size would work to their advantage, the enemy would have great difficulty fighting back against a foe that was virtually invisible to them.
Commander Zerki had commanded many attack swarms on many planets, always finding and exploiting the enemy's weakness, victorious in every invasion.
He watched with pride as the swarm began to disperse and the individual strike teams peeled off to begin the hunt.
Before long total chaos consumed the city, people were dropping by the thousand, car and lorry drivers collapsed at the wheels of moving vehicles adding to the general carnage and mayhem. Injured and frightened people jammed the switchboards to no longer functioning emergency services. The word went out of a possible major terrorist attack, maybe chemical or viral - no one knew.
A few hours later Commander Zerki spearheaded his swarm towards the next major dwelling area, leaving behind just a few hundred thousand warriors to hunt down and exterminate the remaining survivors, and to purge the surrounding minor dwelling areas of the dominant species, his mission had been a total success. He punched the keys and sent the broadcast.
Hundreds of massive motherships hovering invisible above the planet Earth opened the vents in their cloaking shields, and began releasing the thousands of main battle-swarms.
Humankind was about to experience a dust-storm the likes of which it had never seen.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Dust (Part 1)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 22 July 2011
Dust (Part 1)
Doctor Simpson leaned back into the cushions of his garden chair and breathed out a long happy sigh of contentment, he picked up the iced lemonade from the table beside him and took a long, slow drink.
Buying the semi-rural house with its sprawling garden and views of the surrounding countryside had been an expensive venture, but moments like these made it all worthwhile. The small, but well- equipped laboratory he'd had built in the basement allowed him to do much of his work from home now, instead of facing the daily city rat-race. Work that recently had become more and more of the lucrative freelance type.
He placed his glass back on the table and savoured the sweet scent of the flowers, he glanced around appreciatively at the lush foliage, the vibrant colours. Birds chirruped and chirped from the trees, an occasional insect winged past, a few dust motes drifted lazily in the bright shafts of sunlight that streamed through the tree branches.
Doctor Simpson settled deeper into the chair and closed his eyes, smiling to himself, all was well with his world.
His eyes suddenly sprang open, and he sat bolt upright.
A feeling of deep unease flooded through him., as if some subconscious alarm bell had been triggered, as if something was not quite as it should be. The scientist in him tried to shrug off the feeling, he was a man of logic not superstition or irrational fear, but the feeling persisted, the feeling that something was not quite right.
Then it came to him, the dust motes, they swirled and moved in a way that dust motes shouldn't, they were moving against the breeze. He stood and went closer to them and watched the tiny specks for a few moments, they definitely seemed to be moving with purpose and uniformity.
He smiled at his silly fear, there was of course a rational explanation for this, thermal currents or such-like, but his curiosity was aroused, he went to the basement and returned a few minutes later carrying a sample flask and seal.
Capturing one of the motes proved difficult, it was illogical but the damn thing seemed to be trying to avoid the open flask top, eventually persistence paid off and he managed to get the flask around the speck, and place the seal. The tiny bit of dust remained unmoving, stationary in the centre of its transparent prison.
As he walked back to the house he noticed a strange low-lying cloud casting a dark shadow over the nearby hills, this too was drifting against the breeze, and heading directly towards the city.
He returned to the basement, and placed the flask beneath the powerful microscope lens and proceeded to zoom and focus on the dust mote.
A dozen clicks with the computer keyboard and the blurred image appeared on the two-metre wall screen, a few slight adjustments, the image solidified into crystal clarity.
Doctor Simpson stared at the screen, his logical brain refusing to accept the impossible insanity of what his eyes were telling it.
On the screen the minute craft and its uniformed crew of four were almost life-size. The intricate propulsion cones beneath the machine, and the bristling weaponry it carried were futuristic and alien in their detail.
One of the creatures stared through the window of the ship, and directly into the lens. The face that looked back at Doctor Simpson from the wall had a look of malevolently intelligent awareness in its eyes, and an expression of pure hatred.
And it was grinning.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Continued in :- Dust (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Buying the semi-rural house with its sprawling garden and views of the surrounding countryside had been an expensive venture, but moments like these made it all worthwhile. The small, but well- equipped laboratory he'd had built in the basement allowed him to do much of his work from home now, instead of facing the daily city rat-race. Work that recently had become more and more of the lucrative freelance type.
He placed his glass back on the table and savoured the sweet scent of the flowers, he glanced around appreciatively at the lush foliage, the vibrant colours. Birds chirruped and chirped from the trees, an occasional insect winged past, a few dust motes drifted lazily in the bright shafts of sunlight that streamed through the tree branches.
Doctor Simpson settled deeper into the chair and closed his eyes, smiling to himself, all was well with his world.
His eyes suddenly sprang open, and he sat bolt upright.
A feeling of deep unease flooded through him., as if some subconscious alarm bell had been triggered, as if something was not quite as it should be. The scientist in him tried to shrug off the feeling, he was a man of logic not superstition or irrational fear, but the feeling persisted, the feeling that something was not quite right.
Then it came to him, the dust motes, they swirled and moved in a way that dust motes shouldn't, they were moving against the breeze. He stood and went closer to them and watched the tiny specks for a few moments, they definitely seemed to be moving with purpose and uniformity.
He smiled at his silly fear, there was of course a rational explanation for this, thermal currents or such-like, but his curiosity was aroused, he went to the basement and returned a few minutes later carrying a sample flask and seal.
Capturing one of the motes proved difficult, it was illogical but the damn thing seemed to be trying to avoid the open flask top, eventually persistence paid off and he managed to get the flask around the speck, and place the seal. The tiny bit of dust remained unmoving, stationary in the centre of its transparent prison.
As he walked back to the house he noticed a strange low-lying cloud casting a dark shadow over the nearby hills, this too was drifting against the breeze, and heading directly towards the city.
He returned to the basement, and placed the flask beneath the powerful microscope lens and proceeded to zoom and focus on the dust mote.
A dozen clicks with the computer keyboard and the blurred image appeared on the two-metre wall screen, a few slight adjustments, the image solidified into crystal clarity.
Doctor Simpson stared at the screen, his logical brain refusing to accept the impossible insanity of what his eyes were telling it.
On the screen the minute craft and its uniformed crew of four were almost life-size. The intricate propulsion cones beneath the machine, and the bristling weaponry it carried were futuristic and alien in their detail.
One of the creatures stared through the window of the ship, and directly into the lens. The face that looked back at Doctor Simpson from the wall had a look of malevolently intelligent awareness in its eyes, and an expression of pure hatred.
And it was grinning.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Continued in :- Dust (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 15 July 2011
As long as he needs me (Guest post)
This week is the first anniversary of The Twisted Quill, and I am celebrating my Blogiversary by publishing a guest post from the lady who is in a way largely responsible for its creation.
The very first post on this blog “The birth of The Twisted Quill” explains how this came about, and how Nickie, a talented writer, and Author of the very successful blog “Typecast” played her part.
Nickie concentrates her talents mostly on blogging and various other avenues of writing, but does produce an occasional short story.
As I asked for her to guest post (unknowingly) just four hours before she was due to go on holiday, it gave her no time to write anything new, and so with her permission I chose this previously published story of hers.
Thank you for reading. Steve Green.
AS LONG AS HE NEEDS ME. A flash fiction By Nickie O'Hara.
I felt his finger trace my spine from top to bottom. If I'd have been able, I would have let out a sigh of pleasure. I know he only loved me for my inner knowledge and the stories I could tell but, when he wrapped his strong hands around me and gently picked me up, I knew that we would both be satisfied within a few minutes.
I didn't care that our interaction took such a short period of time; the reason I existed was to appease him. We always captured snatched moments together; one of us with a hint of doubt and embarrassment, the other eager to totally surrender.
He tenderly laid me on the table and expertly opened me up – exposed for all to see. With one finger, he gently stroked me in places that plenty of people had been before. There had been so many that all their faces blurred into one. Only he mattered now; he was the one who needed me.
He looked at me, fleetingly up and down. He murmured something under his breath and then as he released a guttural cry of exclamation, I knew he was finished with me. I didn't feel used this time; I knew he'd be back for more.
He straightened me up, ensuring that nothing was out of place. He lifted me once more, placed me back on the shelf between A-D and I-L and he walked away.
©2010 Nickie O'Hara
Author's note:-
Nickie is still on holiday, and so will be unable to respond to any comments for another week or so.
“As long as he needs me” was first published in August of last year on Nickie's blog “Typecast”.
http://www.iamtypecast.com/2010/08/as-long-as-he-needs-me.html
The very first post on this blog “The birth of The Twisted Quill” explains how this came about, and how Nickie, a talented writer, and Author of the very successful blog “Typecast” played her part.
Nickie concentrates her talents mostly on blogging and various other avenues of writing, but does produce an occasional short story.
As I asked for her to guest post (unknowingly) just four hours before she was due to go on holiday, it gave her no time to write anything new, and so with her permission I chose this previously published story of hers.
Thank you for reading. Steve Green.
AS LONG AS HE NEEDS ME. A flash fiction By Nickie O'Hara.
I felt his finger trace my spine from top to bottom. If I'd have been able, I would have let out a sigh of pleasure. I know he only loved me for my inner knowledge and the stories I could tell but, when he wrapped his strong hands around me and gently picked me up, I knew that we would both be satisfied within a few minutes.
I didn't care that our interaction took such a short period of time; the reason I existed was to appease him. We always captured snatched moments together; one of us with a hint of doubt and embarrassment, the other eager to totally surrender.
He tenderly laid me on the table and expertly opened me up – exposed for all to see. With one finger, he gently stroked me in places that plenty of people had been before. There had been so many that all their faces blurred into one. Only he mattered now; he was the one who needed me.
He looked at me, fleetingly up and down. He murmured something under his breath and then as he released a guttural cry of exclamation, I knew he was finished with me. I didn't feel used this time; I knew he'd be back for more.
He straightened me up, ensuring that nothing was out of place. He lifted me once more, placed me back on the shelf between A-D and I-L and he walked away.
©2010 Nickie O'Hara
Author's note:-
Nickie is still on holiday, and so will be unable to respond to any comments for another week or so.
“As long as he needs me” was first published in August of last year on Nickie's blog “Typecast”.
http://www.iamtypecast.com/2010/08/as-long-as-he-needs-me.html
Monday, 11 July 2011
The Versatile Blogger Award
The very kind lady Helen, who blogs at Helen-Scribbles has awarded me the Versatile Blogger Award, Helen, thank you so much.
Now, the rules are, I must write seven random facts about myself, and nominate other bloggers to receive the award.
I'm not sure which random facts will interest anyone, but these came to mind.
1) I love peace and quiet, and regularly watch the TV with the sound turned off
2) I love slaughtering things on my Xbox 360, currently I'm replaying Bioshock.
3) I eat lots of fruit, but never eat cherries.
4) I am absolutely NOT a morning person, and am really lucky because my working hours are 12.30 PM – 9.00 PM, and I absolutely luuurve those hours.
5) High on my list of pet hates are drivers who tailgate, and drivers who don't use their indicators.
6) My Ipod has 5,500 tunes on it, ranging from Bob Dylan, to modern pop, and one of my favourite all-time bands is Blondie.
7) The first car I ever owned was an Austin Allegro, and true to its nickname, it really was an All-Aggro. Possibly the worst tin-box of problems ever to be built.
Nominating other bloggers is much more difficult than one would think, because I enjoy reading many people's writing, and it is hard to choose one over another.
So I eventually settled on these three.
Stephen Hewitt at Cafe shorts, for the sheer eloquence and depth of his writing.
John Xero at Xeroverse 101 and at Missing Pieces, for his very deep and dark writing, even though I'm not always deep enough, or dark enough to understand it.
Tim VanSant at otoh because he regularly makes me smile with his razor-sharp wit.
Come on over and collect your award guys.
Steve.
Friday, 8 July 2011
Together
I held her close to me, held her tight, nuzzled her neck and kissed her cheek.
“Don't be afraid.” I whispered into her ear. “I'm here, we're together where we belong, where we've always belonged.
The sounds of the rising panic drifted up from the streets eighteen storeys below, and through the open balcony windows.
The sounds of screaming, the occasional muffled thud of traffic accidents as people futilely tried to bulldoze their way to safety, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing desire to flee, to escape.
And above all, the endless, shrieking monotone of the sirens.
I held her even closer to me, breathing in the sweet scent of her.
My thoughts flashed backwards, then forwards, in leaps, bounds, and jerks.
We were born in the same hospital wing, just minutes apart. Our parents were next door neighbours, and the first time we consciously met was across two feet of space from pram to pram, eyeing each other with that wide-eyed curiosity that only infants seem to possess.
As children we were inseparable, playing together, laughing together, and sometimes even fighting together side by side, defending one another from the school bullies.
As we grew older our love hardened into something unbreakable, I recall that beautiful August afternoon when my parents were out, and we lost our virginity together, another treasured milestone in our inseparable lives.
And soon we would die together.
I gently took her hand and led her up the steps and out onto the roof.
We stood together hand in hand and stared up at the white trails of the outgoing missiles as they arced up and out into the night sky.
A few moments later the bright specks of the retaliatory inbound missiles appeared on the horizon.
We watched them come.
Without fear.
Together.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
“Don't be afraid.” I whispered into her ear. “I'm here, we're together where we belong, where we've always belonged.
The sounds of the rising panic drifted up from the streets eighteen storeys below, and through the open balcony windows.
The sounds of screaming, the occasional muffled thud of traffic accidents as people futilely tried to bulldoze their way to safety, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing desire to flee, to escape.
And above all, the endless, shrieking monotone of the sirens.
I held her even closer to me, breathing in the sweet scent of her.
My thoughts flashed backwards, then forwards, in leaps, bounds, and jerks.
We were born in the same hospital wing, just minutes apart. Our parents were next door neighbours, and the first time we consciously met was across two feet of space from pram to pram, eyeing each other with that wide-eyed curiosity that only infants seem to possess.
As children we were inseparable, playing together, laughing together, and sometimes even fighting together side by side, defending one another from the school bullies.
As we grew older our love hardened into something unbreakable, I recall that beautiful August afternoon when my parents were out, and we lost our virginity together, another treasured milestone in our inseparable lives.
And soon we would die together.
I gently took her hand and led her up the steps and out onto the roof.
We stood together hand in hand and stared up at the white trails of the outgoing missiles as they arced up and out into the night sky.
A few moments later the bright specks of the retaliatory inbound missiles appeared on the horizon.
We watched them come.
Without fear.
Together.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 1 July 2011
Punishment
“You call this a punishment? A sentence? Ha! What joy I have had, what fun this exile has been.
This world is mine, my ball to play with.
These creatures have given me many names, and I love every single one of them, Homicide, Matricide, Patricide, Fratricide, Infanticide... Genocide, my personal favourite.
As the whim takes me I send them war, slaughter and destruction.
I taste their suffering, savour it, gulp it down.
I have guided their hands and minds to the creation of their new weapons, and I shall guide them to turning the keys and entering the codes, and that done I shall hunt down the remnants and turn them one against the other, for this species deserves nothing less than total annihilation.”
“Yes, and when you have succeeded in emptying your world of playthings, then your sentence shall truly begin, an eternity of nothing, an immeasurable time of boredom, of inactivity.
That is to be your punishment.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
This world is mine, my ball to play with.
These creatures have given me many names, and I love every single one of them, Homicide, Matricide, Patricide, Fratricide, Infanticide... Genocide, my personal favourite.
As the whim takes me I send them war, slaughter and destruction.
I taste their suffering, savour it, gulp it down.
I have guided their hands and minds to the creation of their new weapons, and I shall guide them to turning the keys and entering the codes, and that done I shall hunt down the remnants and turn them one against the other, for this species deserves nothing less than total annihilation.”
“Yes, and when you have succeeded in emptying your world of playthings, then your sentence shall truly begin, an eternity of nothing, an immeasurable time of boredom, of inactivity.
That is to be your punishment.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Thursday, 23 June 2011
A piece of my mind
I held eyeball to eyeball contact...
And said my piece.
“If you EVER park YOUR CAR outside of MY HOUSE again, you won't know what the HELL has HIT you.”
My forefinger stabbed forward repeatedly, emphasising my righteous indignation as I took the moral high ground.
“You BIG DUMB SCHMUCK! don't think I'm scared of YOU mate, I might be half your size, but I could take your lights out ANY day of the week, NO problem!
I am SICK to DEATH of having to park MY car at the other end of the STREET, just because YOU can't be ARSED to reverse YOUR piece of SCRAP back to where it SHOULD be parked., you LAZY, BONE idle, BALD-headed, POT-bellied, HUMPTY-backed, DOG-breathed, WRINKLE-faced, MAGGOT-todgered, BALL-LESS, SNIPE-nosed, KNOCK-kneed piece of CRUD.
If YOU parked YOUR rustbucket where it SHOULD be parked, I would be able to park MY car where IT should be parked, WOULDN'T I? But NO!, THAT would be too SIMPLE...WOULDN'T IT? Too EASY! Too much like using a bit of common bleedin' SENSE!.. WOULDN'T IT? NO! Because YOU have to act like the INCON-bleedin'-SIDERATE, BOULDER-bellied TOSSER that you ARE... I'VE got three buses and a TRAIN to catch before I get to MY car on a MORNING!
It would be really NICE if just for ONCE in my life I didn't need to YOMP across half the ESTATE to get to MY front DOOR When I get home from work! I mean, JEEZ! It would be nearly as quick to WALK home WOULDN'T it?
Are you GETTING all this? Is it sinking through your THICK-boned SKULL into that PATHETIC, LENTIL-sized, THREE-celled BRAIN of yours?
Now get your UGLY-mugged ARSE down them STEPS mister VERNON JARVIS, get into that clapped out, rattling box of SHRAPNEL that you call a CAR, and SHIFT IT!!!!”
There was a gentle knock on the front door...
I walked into the hallway and opened the door to find Vernon Jarvis from next door on the doorstep
“ Oh, hi mate” He said. “I've brought that DVD back that I borrowed last night. Thanks bud, much appreciated. Oh drat! I've parked the car a bit too far forward again haven't I? Must be the second time this month, sorry mate, I'll nip down and move it back a couple of feet.”
“No, don't bother Vern” I told him, smiling. “It's no problem at all mate, I'm only encroaching onto next door's kerb a foot or so, and anyway, Frank doesn't mind, he doesn't even own a car.”
“See ya later mate.” I said, still smiling.
I closed the door gently, and walked back into the lounge, when I passed the mirror I couldn't quite look myself in the eye this time.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
And said my piece.
“If you EVER park YOUR CAR outside of MY HOUSE again, you won't know what the HELL has HIT you.”
My forefinger stabbed forward repeatedly, emphasising my righteous indignation as I took the moral high ground.
“You BIG DUMB SCHMUCK! don't think I'm scared of YOU mate, I might be half your size, but I could take your lights out ANY day of the week, NO problem!
I am SICK to DEATH of having to park MY car at the other end of the STREET, just because YOU can't be ARSED to reverse YOUR piece of SCRAP back to where it SHOULD be parked., you LAZY, BONE idle, BALD-headed, POT-bellied, HUMPTY-backed, DOG-breathed, WRINKLE-faced, MAGGOT-todgered, BALL-LESS, SNIPE-nosed, KNOCK-kneed piece of CRUD.
If YOU parked YOUR rustbucket where it SHOULD be parked, I would be able to park MY car where IT should be parked, WOULDN'T I? But NO!, THAT would be too SIMPLE...WOULDN'T IT? Too EASY! Too much like using a bit of common bleedin' SENSE!.. WOULDN'T IT? NO! Because YOU have to act like the INCON-bleedin'-SIDERATE, BOULDER-bellied TOSSER that you ARE... I'VE got three buses and a TRAIN to catch before I get to MY car on a MORNING!
It would be really NICE if just for ONCE in my life I didn't need to YOMP across half the ESTATE to get to MY front DOOR When I get home from work! I mean, JEEZ! It would be nearly as quick to WALK home WOULDN'T it?
Are you GETTING all this? Is it sinking through your THICK-boned SKULL into that PATHETIC, LENTIL-sized, THREE-celled BRAIN of yours?
Now get your UGLY-mugged ARSE down them STEPS mister VERNON JARVIS, get into that clapped out, rattling box of SHRAPNEL that you call a CAR, and SHIFT IT!!!!”
There was a gentle knock on the front door...
I walked into the hallway and opened the door to find Vernon Jarvis from next door on the doorstep
“ Oh, hi mate” He said. “I've brought that DVD back that I borrowed last night. Thanks bud, much appreciated. Oh drat! I've parked the car a bit too far forward again haven't I? Must be the second time this month, sorry mate, I'll nip down and move it back a couple of feet.”
“No, don't bother Vern” I told him, smiling. “It's no problem at all mate, I'm only encroaching onto next door's kerb a foot or so, and anyway, Frank doesn't mind, he doesn't even own a car.”
“See ya later mate.” I said, still smiling.
I closed the door gently, and walked back into the lounge, when I passed the mirror I couldn't quite look myself in the eye this time.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 17 June 2011
For my own safety
I've had many labels stuck on me in the time I've been in here, insane, paranoid, delusional, schizophrenic, liar, to name but a few. I think liar was the one that hurt the most.
Not for one single moment did any of these so-called experts consider that maybe, just maybe, I was telling the truth.
For my own safety, their words not mine, I was detained under the mental health act, and brought to this 'hospital'.
Eventually I had grown to like my room, the fabric covering the walls and floor was tough and yet soft at the same time.
“For your own safety.” They had told me, as they ushered me inside.
And yes, it was safe, for now. Eventually things on the outside would get so bad there would be no-one left in control here, and I would have to leave and take my chances, but for now it was safe.
And here I was, in the interview room once more...
The man in black looked across the table at me, his face expressionless, but the glint of concern in his eyes betrayed his inner thoughts.
“People are disappearing.” He said.
“Yes, I know.”
“A lot of people, thousands each day.”
“Yes, I know.”
He shifted slightly in his chair, his body language betraying him further.
“Do you know where they are being taken to?”
“No, but I know where they end up.”
The man in black straightened in his chair, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, he stared at me intently.
“Where?” He asked me.
“The same place as your breakfast, and your Sunday roast, and your Saturday night beer and pizza.”
“What?”
“Where do all meals end up? Down the sewer, they end up down the sewer.”
“You could have helped to prevent a lot of this you know.”
“When I tried to tell people that these creatures were living amongst us, when I tried to warn people about this, when I tried to convince people to defend themselves against this, I was brought here, for my own safety. No-one wanted to listen to what I had to say.”
“Well, we're ready to listen now.”
I sighed, stood up, and walked slowly towards the door. “It's too late.” I told him over my shoulder. To the guard I said “I'd like to go back to my room now please, for my own safety”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Not for one single moment did any of these so-called experts consider that maybe, just maybe, I was telling the truth.
For my own safety, their words not mine, I was detained under the mental health act, and brought to this 'hospital'.
Eventually I had grown to like my room, the fabric covering the walls and floor was tough and yet soft at the same time.
“For your own safety.” They had told me, as they ushered me inside.
And yes, it was safe, for now. Eventually things on the outside would get so bad there would be no-one left in control here, and I would have to leave and take my chances, but for now it was safe.
And here I was, in the interview room once more...
The man in black looked across the table at me, his face expressionless, but the glint of concern in his eyes betrayed his inner thoughts.
“People are disappearing.” He said.
“Yes, I know.”
“A lot of people, thousands each day.”
“Yes, I know.”
He shifted slightly in his chair, his body language betraying him further.
“Do you know where they are being taken to?”
“No, but I know where they end up.”
The man in black straightened in his chair, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, he stared at me intently.
“Where?” He asked me.
“The same place as your breakfast, and your Sunday roast, and your Saturday night beer and pizza.”
“What?”
“Where do all meals end up? Down the sewer, they end up down the sewer.”
“You could have helped to prevent a lot of this you know.”
“When I tried to tell people that these creatures were living amongst us, when I tried to warn people about this, when I tried to convince people to defend themselves against this, I was brought here, for my own safety. No-one wanted to listen to what I had to say.”
“Well, we're ready to listen now.”
I sighed, stood up, and walked slowly towards the door. “It's too late.” I told him over my shoulder. To the guard I said “I'd like to go back to my room now please, for my own safety”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 10 June 2011
Tapeworms
“He's still movin'”
We stood a few feet away from Geoff's body, the slug from my .45 had drilled a hole through his forehead, probably gone straight through and into the ground too.
“He's dead.” I told him, matter of factly. “Now pour the petrol an' burn him before the damn thing comes out.”
“He ain't dead,” Said Paul, his voice rising in panic. “Look... LOOK... He's still movin'!”
Geoff's stomach was twitching slightly, small movements, tiny squiggles under the skin.
As we watched, the movements began to increase in intensity, and to slowly edge upwards towards his chest.
I put two more slugs into him, both directly into the twitchy bit, the body danced slightly with the impacts but the movements continued upwards, the ribcage started to thrum, as though a silent jackhammer was being used on the inside.
Paul stared, bulge-eyed with fear and horror.
“Paul... PAUL... Use the goddam petrol, for crissakes will ya?”
He just stood, rooted, useless in his terror.
I made a start to grab the fuel can from his hand when a slight crackling sound came from Geoff's mouth...
I felt the freezing tendrils of paralysing terror crawl up my spine, I turned my head in Geoff's direction...
Geoff's throat was a writhing distended lump. A translucent, ghastly pale, inch-thick head appeared from his mouth, small antenna flickered around as if tasting the air...
Paul snapped, he started screaming... he just stood... and stared... and screamed...
I watched with absolute horror as more of the creature slithered out, like a ghostly segmented viper. The eyeless head turned in Paul's direction, attracted by the sweet sound of his screams...
The hellish creature slowly drew itself back, away from us, then, almost faster than the eye could follow, whiplashed its body through the air, I spun around just in time to see the last few inches of it slither rapidly into Paul's open mouth.
I backed off several yards whilst Paul was gagging and coughing, eventually he seemed to recover, and straightened up, his eyes glazed with something that wasn't there a few moments ago.
We stood and looked at each other, both of us knowing what I would have to do.
Me and Paul had known each other since we were kids, best buddies all the way, it was hard to believe it would end like this.
I walked forward raising the gun, tears blurring my vision as I pressed the barrel to his forehead...
“Do it!” he said, his voice calm, steady.
“Goodbye my friend.” I said, then squeezed the trigger.
Paul's body flew back, landing spread-eagled in the dust, almost immediately the writhing began beneath the skin on his stomach. His unwanted house-guest already packing to leave, these creatures needed live flesh to feed off.
I grabbed the fuel can, flipping the top open and began to pour, liberally dousing his head, filling his mouth until it overflowed, then along the length of his body. Salt water dripping from my cheeks and mixing with the petrol.
I stood back a few paces, struck the match and threw it onto Paul just as his throat started to bloat...
Within seconds the head appeared from the flame-filled mouth...
The creature thrashed around as it tried to escape the flames, writhing, burning, screeching... dying.
As I watched while the worm slumped, and blackened, I pondered my next move.
This had certainly turned out to be some day, I had just wasted two more members of a rapidly dwindling population.
Could we actually win this war? Or even survive it?
Well, whatever happened, I would go down fighting.
A short distance away the road forked left and right, which way to go?
I was unlikely to find good news whichever direction I chose. Good news was extremely hard to come by these days.
The goddam worms were everywhere, every town and city were infested with them.
Decision time...
I fished a coin from my pocket...
And flipped...
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
We stood a few feet away from Geoff's body, the slug from my .45 had drilled a hole through his forehead, probably gone straight through and into the ground too.
“He's dead.” I told him, matter of factly. “Now pour the petrol an' burn him before the damn thing comes out.”
“He ain't dead,” Said Paul, his voice rising in panic. “Look... LOOK... He's still movin'!”
Geoff's stomach was twitching slightly, small movements, tiny squiggles under the skin.
As we watched, the movements began to increase in intensity, and to slowly edge upwards towards his chest.
I put two more slugs into him, both directly into the twitchy bit, the body danced slightly with the impacts but the movements continued upwards, the ribcage started to thrum, as though a silent jackhammer was being used on the inside.
Paul stared, bulge-eyed with fear and horror.
“Paul... PAUL... Use the goddam petrol, for crissakes will ya?”
He just stood, rooted, useless in his terror.
I made a start to grab the fuel can from his hand when a slight crackling sound came from Geoff's mouth...
I felt the freezing tendrils of paralysing terror crawl up my spine, I turned my head in Geoff's direction...
Geoff's throat was a writhing distended lump. A translucent, ghastly pale, inch-thick head appeared from his mouth, small antenna flickered around as if tasting the air...
Paul snapped, he started screaming... he just stood... and stared... and screamed...
I watched with absolute horror as more of the creature slithered out, like a ghostly segmented viper. The eyeless head turned in Paul's direction, attracted by the sweet sound of his screams...
The hellish creature slowly drew itself back, away from us, then, almost faster than the eye could follow, whiplashed its body through the air, I spun around just in time to see the last few inches of it slither rapidly into Paul's open mouth.
I backed off several yards whilst Paul was gagging and coughing, eventually he seemed to recover, and straightened up, his eyes glazed with something that wasn't there a few moments ago.
We stood and looked at each other, both of us knowing what I would have to do.
Me and Paul had known each other since we were kids, best buddies all the way, it was hard to believe it would end like this.
I walked forward raising the gun, tears blurring my vision as I pressed the barrel to his forehead...
“Do it!” he said, his voice calm, steady.
“Goodbye my friend.” I said, then squeezed the trigger.
Paul's body flew back, landing spread-eagled in the dust, almost immediately the writhing began beneath the skin on his stomach. His unwanted house-guest already packing to leave, these creatures needed live flesh to feed off.
I grabbed the fuel can, flipping the top open and began to pour, liberally dousing his head, filling his mouth until it overflowed, then along the length of his body. Salt water dripping from my cheeks and mixing with the petrol.
I stood back a few paces, struck the match and threw it onto Paul just as his throat started to bloat...
Within seconds the head appeared from the flame-filled mouth...
The creature thrashed around as it tried to escape the flames, writhing, burning, screeching... dying.
As I watched while the worm slumped, and blackened, I pondered my next move.
This had certainly turned out to be some day, I had just wasted two more members of a rapidly dwindling population.
Could we actually win this war? Or even survive it?
Well, whatever happened, I would go down fighting.
A short distance away the road forked left and right, which way to go?
I was unlikely to find good news whichever direction I chose. Good news was extremely hard to come by these days.
The goddam worms were everywhere, every town and city were infested with them.
Decision time...
I fished a coin from my pocket...
And flipped...
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 3 June 2011
Skitter
I quietly closed the cellar door and walked down the steps, it is in here somewhere... Hiding...
As I walked to the centre of the cellar, I thought I saw a small movement in the shadows...
Then...
“TINK”... The light went out...plunging me into a wall of black...
Fear surged to the surface, I held myself together just below the panic threshold...
Then I heard it...the sound of sharp claws scrabbling on the stone floor...
Skitter
I couldn't move, my whole body was frozen with terror...
Skitter
I couldn't speak, my throat constricted ...
Skitter skitter
I could barely breathe as the panic threatened to engulf me...
Skitter skitter
Sightless in the pitch black...
Skitter skitter skitter
Heart pounding... mouth dry... eyes straining futilely...
Skitter SKITTER skitter
It's getting closer... bolder...
Skitter skitter SKITTER skitter skitter
Playing with me...
Skitter skitter SKITTER SKITTER skitter skitter
There was a barely audible creak as the cellar door swung slowly open...
Skitter skitter SKITTER SKITTER SKITTER skitter skitter
blinding light in my eyes...
Skitter skitter
The voice, a welcome lifeline in this ocean of skittering nothingness...
“John? I told ya not to come down inta the cellar without a torch... didn't I tell ya that? Ya know how unreliable the lighting is down here. An' what with your darkness phobia an' all... Now, did ya get the hamster back inta his cage yet?
“No, I ain't caught him yet, but I can hear the little blighter runnin' around.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
As I walked to the centre of the cellar, I thought I saw a small movement in the shadows...
Then...
“TINK”... The light went out...plunging me into a wall of black...
Fear surged to the surface, I held myself together just below the panic threshold...
Then I heard it...the sound of sharp claws scrabbling on the stone floor...
Skitter
I couldn't move, my whole body was frozen with terror...
Skitter
I couldn't speak, my throat constricted ...
Skitter skitter
I could barely breathe as the panic threatened to engulf me...
Skitter skitter
Sightless in the pitch black...
Skitter skitter skitter
Heart pounding... mouth dry... eyes straining futilely...
Skitter SKITTER skitter
It's getting closer... bolder...
Skitter skitter SKITTER skitter skitter
Playing with me...
Skitter skitter SKITTER SKITTER skitter skitter
There was a barely audible creak as the cellar door swung slowly open...
Skitter skitter SKITTER SKITTER SKITTER skitter skitter
blinding light in my eyes...
Skitter skitter
The voice, a welcome lifeline in this ocean of skittering nothingness...
“John? I told ya not to come down inta the cellar without a torch... didn't I tell ya that? Ya know how unreliable the lighting is down here. An' what with your darkness phobia an' all... Now, did ya get the hamster back inta his cage yet?
“No, I ain't caught him yet, but I can hear the little blighter runnin' around.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 27 May 2011
Cops and robbers (Part 2)
Anyone wishing to read the first part of this story can find it here:-
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
* * * * * * * * * *
Aaah, this truly was the life he deserved, a beautiful sprawling house with its own private beach, speed boat tied up at the private jetty, an endless string of caribbean babes to help him pass the time, and a neverending supply of fine rum and sunshine...
Yes, this was definitely the life for him.
Ex Detective Inspector Bennett eased himself more comfortably into the sun-lounger, and took a long, slow drink from his iced cocktail, a gentle breeze touched his sun-bronzed face, he smiled to himself, he was smiling a lot lately, especially when he recalled the events from a few short months ago...
It seemed like a lifetime ago, another life, another world.
Everyone was so surprised when he suddenly decided to retire from the police force, he claimed exhaustion and stress, most people put it down to his failure to crack the jewellery robbery case, this was the first time in all his years on the force that he had failed, and the strain showed.
As well as being an excellent cop, Bennett was also an excellent actor too, his drawn, haggard appearance was self-induced, night after night he took a minimum amount of sleep, which had a cumulative effect on his appearance, a lined look, bags under the eyes, pale sunken cheeks, all of which reinforced the belief of those who knew him that he was suffering inside.
Many of his colleagues were secretly relieved when he retired, he had lost his edge, it was for the best really.
Inside, Bennett was laughing like a drain, his plan was coming nicely together, a few weeks after retiring, he retrieved the diamonds from beneath his floorboards, then, wearing a cunning disguise, paid a visit to Fat Freddy...
He walked out of Freddy's establishment with just shy of three quarters of a million pounds in his possession.
Second phase...
No-one was surprised to find Bennett's abandoned clothes on the beach, a note in his wallet saying goodbye to all that he held dear, last night's storm tide along the English Channel would have washed a body miles out to sea...
Bennett smiled again as he returned his thoughts to the present. Yes, this was definitely the life.
After several hours of sunbathing, hunger finally began to gnaw at him, tummy growling he eased himself off the sun-lounger and ambled up towards the house, as he approached the building he cast an appraising eye over it, he had the property on monthly lease from one of the local big boys, the beach and speed boat all part of the package.
The sprawling single-storey was a beauty, red-tiled roof, white walls gleaming in the sun, the large picture window, the open door..... OPEN DOOR??
Bennett froze, he had definitely closed the door when he came out, no-one left their doors open here, there were too many little furry things living in these parts that would chew everything inside.
He looked slowly around, there were faint marks in the sand, a barely visible swirling line led from the doorway and off towards the treeline, someone had used a branch to wipe out their footprints.
Bennett slowly crept to the door, if anyone was still inside they would shortly be very, very sorry they had come here.
He peeked around the doorframe... nothing!
He listened for a few moments... nothing!
He silently entered the house, his body ready to spring to violence...
The first thing to catch his eye when he got to the lounge was the seascape picture lying on the floor, from there his gaze travelled upwards to the wall safe, whose door was also hanging open...
Bennett walked to the safe and looked inside... Empty!
All of his money, all of it, gone!!
Panicking, he thrust a hand inside the safe, not quite believing what he was seeing, maybe his hands would find what his eyes could not...
Right at the back of the safe his fingers touched a scrap of paper, Bennett pulled it out and stared at it unbelievingly...
There was something very familiar about this bit of paper, obviously torn from a notebook.
On the paper, in his own handwriting, were the words THANK YOU. And next to this was a cartoon drawing of a grinning Bugs Bunny.
At the bottom of the page was a clumsily drawn picture of a fist with the middle finger sticking up,
And the words CATCH ME IF YOU CAN... signed... YOURS TRULY.
- - - - - - - - - -
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
* * * * * * * * * *
Aaah, this truly was the life he deserved, a beautiful sprawling house with its own private beach, speed boat tied up at the private jetty, an endless string of caribbean babes to help him pass the time, and a neverending supply of fine rum and sunshine...
Yes, this was definitely the life for him.
Ex Detective Inspector Bennett eased himself more comfortably into the sun-lounger, and took a long, slow drink from his iced cocktail, a gentle breeze touched his sun-bronzed face, he smiled to himself, he was smiling a lot lately, especially when he recalled the events from a few short months ago...
It seemed like a lifetime ago, another life, another world.
Everyone was so surprised when he suddenly decided to retire from the police force, he claimed exhaustion and stress, most people put it down to his failure to crack the jewellery robbery case, this was the first time in all his years on the force that he had failed, and the strain showed.
As well as being an excellent cop, Bennett was also an excellent actor too, his drawn, haggard appearance was self-induced, night after night he took a minimum amount of sleep, which had a cumulative effect on his appearance, a lined look, bags under the eyes, pale sunken cheeks, all of which reinforced the belief of those who knew him that he was suffering inside.
Many of his colleagues were secretly relieved when he retired, he had lost his edge, it was for the best really.
Inside, Bennett was laughing like a drain, his plan was coming nicely together, a few weeks after retiring, he retrieved the diamonds from beneath his floorboards, then, wearing a cunning disguise, paid a visit to Fat Freddy...
He walked out of Freddy's establishment with just shy of three quarters of a million pounds in his possession.
Second phase...
No-one was surprised to find Bennett's abandoned clothes on the beach, a note in his wallet saying goodbye to all that he held dear, last night's storm tide along the English Channel would have washed a body miles out to sea...
Bennett smiled again as he returned his thoughts to the present. Yes, this was definitely the life.
After several hours of sunbathing, hunger finally began to gnaw at him, tummy growling he eased himself off the sun-lounger and ambled up towards the house, as he approached the building he cast an appraising eye over it, he had the property on monthly lease from one of the local big boys, the beach and speed boat all part of the package.
The sprawling single-storey was a beauty, red-tiled roof, white walls gleaming in the sun, the large picture window, the open door..... OPEN DOOR??
Bennett froze, he had definitely closed the door when he came out, no-one left their doors open here, there were too many little furry things living in these parts that would chew everything inside.
He looked slowly around, there were faint marks in the sand, a barely visible swirling line led from the doorway and off towards the treeline, someone had used a branch to wipe out their footprints.
Bennett slowly crept to the door, if anyone was still inside they would shortly be very, very sorry they had come here.
He peeked around the doorframe... nothing!
He listened for a few moments... nothing!
He silently entered the house, his body ready to spring to violence...
The first thing to catch his eye when he got to the lounge was the seascape picture lying on the floor, from there his gaze travelled upwards to the wall safe, whose door was also hanging open...
Bennett walked to the safe and looked inside... Empty!
All of his money, all of it, gone!!
Panicking, he thrust a hand inside the safe, not quite believing what he was seeing, maybe his hands would find what his eyes could not...
Right at the back of the safe his fingers touched a scrap of paper, Bennett pulled it out and stared at it unbelievingly...
There was something very familiar about this bit of paper, obviously torn from a notebook.
On the paper, in his own handwriting, were the words THANK YOU. And next to this was a cartoon drawing of a grinning Bugs Bunny.
At the bottom of the page was a clumsily drawn picture of a fist with the middle finger sticking up,
And the words CATCH ME IF YOU CAN... signed... YOURS TRULY.
- - - - - - - - - -
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Cops and robbers (Part 1)
I was pretty sure that I was going to go down for this one, even though at this point they didn't have a single shred of evidence to fit me to the crime, and I would usually give myself a ninety nine percent chance of walking out of here had anyone else been on the case, just my rotten luck, I had the misfortune to be looking over the interview room table at Bugs.
Detective Inspector Bennett, aka Bugs, was a good cop, a very shrewd cop, his powers of deduction were legendary. Many a crim' had sat smugly in this room, giving him the runaround, only to be tripped up by something that they HADN'T said.
Bugs' thought processes were almost psychic, it was like watching an episode of Columbo.
There was no guesswork when he was on the case, he KNEW if you were guilty or not.
For him, then, it was just a case of using his extremely clever questioning technique to dig out the proof.
All the while we talked he was writing in his notebook, not writing notes, to be re-examined later, as he would like you to think. No, he was doodling, drawing to be more precise.
If you could sneak a look at his book, like 'Johnny The Dip' had once managed to, he would be sketching miniature cartoon characters, namely pictures of a grinning Bugs Bunny.
Of course this soon became common knowledge courtesy of Johnny, and the nickname was born.
No-one ever called D.I. Bennett Bugs to his face, not any more anyway.
The few people who had dared to had earned themselves a good slapping. He was a right hard nut he was, athletic, tough, his hobbies included rock climbing, pot-holing, sky diving, and he held a second dan black belt in karate too. Definitely not a man with whom you would want to bump heads with!
As I sat there I cast my mind back to earlier in the evening...
I had done the jewellers, a piece of cake it was too. After coming back outside I had cut straight across the old cobbled yard that ran alongside of it, and dropped the shoulder bag down the old dry well, I would recover it later when the heat was off.
It was pretty much laid on that I would get hauled in, every time a job like this was pulled I was in the top five names.
Just my luck! As I was coming out of the other side of the yard a police car cruised past.
Spinning on my heel I turned back into the yard, unzipped my flies, and pretended to be taking a leak. The boys in blue must have had a slow shift, they arrested me for possible indecent exposure.
Give me a break will you? There was no-one else around to look at the bloody thing apart from me.
Well, at least the ice was safe, and they'd have to release me after I'd spent several hours giving them nothing.
I would recover the loot in a few days, nice and quiet like.
Whilst I was in custody, news of the robbery came in. That was when it all went up a notch, and Bugs got onto my case. I would have been picked up for questioning on this one anyway, and there I was, all conveniently sitting in a cell, just ripe for the plucking.
“So!” Said Bugs. His tone soft, relaxed, “what were you doing in the yard?”
“You know what I was doing.” I replied, very casual. “I was taking a leak. Yeah I know, a bit naughty, but I got caught short on my way home from the Dog and Duck. I had a few pints in there, and when the cold hit me outside, well...”
Bugs scribbled in his notebook for a while.
He looked up from his doodling, and slowly looked me up and down, from my scalp, right down to the soles of my Italian leather shoes, and back again. His deadpan expression gave nothing away, but I felt like a laser had just burned its way up and down me.
“With anyone I might know?” He asked me.
“Johnny Preston, and Stumpy.”
I hadn't seen either of these two in more than a week, but they would spin Bugs a line for me.
More scribbling.
“Put him back in the cell, I'm going to have a word with Stumpy and 'The Dip'”
He glanced at the clock on the wall, ten past one.
“Those two fine upstanding citizens'll most likely be in the Sugar Cane club at this time of night.”
About an hour later, I was sat in the cell, idly examining the moss stains on my nice shoes, I must've scuffed them against the well wall when I threw the bag down there. I'll give 'em a good polishing tomorrow, can't stand having dirty shoes. I mean, you can tell a lot about a man by the state of his footwear can't you?
The door clanked, then swung open to reveal Bugs filling the door frame.
“Out” He said “Looks like you're in the clear.”
“What about the bollocksy indecent exposure charge?”
“I can't be arsed with the paperwork. Now off you toddle before I change my mind.”
I hit the street feeling like a million dollars. I could hardly believe my luck! I had fronted it!
I don't know what steered Bugs away from me, maybe something Johnny or Stumpy had said to him, but lady luck was definitely smiling my way. This tale will go down in history, once I've got the lovely untraceable cash for the goodies.
Bugs had me, and for once in his exemplary career he had screwed up. Ha!
Maybe his legendary intuition was finally beginning to fade!
I wasn't waiting for later to get the sparklers, as far as I was concerned the heat was already off. I would go for them now, collecting a torch from home on my way past. There was still three or four hours of darkness left, and I intended to grab the stuff, visit Fat Freddy the fence, and get myself home with the cash whilst the luck was still with me.
Half an hour later I was winching the bucket down the well. I slithered down the rope, holding the torch in my mouth, before long I felt my feet touch the soft earth at the bottom of the well. The torch beam fell across the bag... lovely jubbly!
Five minutes later I was walking down the road on my way to Fat Freddy's, when a familiar figure came lurching drunkenly towards me.
“Hey Stumpy, you're in a right state, you are. Thanks for helping me out with Bugs earlier on. There'll be a drink in it for you later.”
Stumpy looked at me as though I was talking gibberish. “Wha' the fug're ya talkin' 'bout?” he slurred, muttered something under his breath, then lurched drunkenly on his way.
Fat Freddy was very pleased to see me.
“OK, lets see the gear.”
I took one of the velvet envelopes from the bag, and emptied it out onto the table. Smiling broadly at Freddy.
“Feast your eyes on them stones Freddy.”
“Is this some kind of a joke?” Said Freddy.
His two minders eased their shoulders from the wall and ambled over to stand behind me at the table.
I looked down at the stones, that's exactly what I was looking at, stones!
Well, gravel to be more precise.
“What the...?”
I felt like I had just been slapped.
One by one I emptied the small black velvet bags onto the table...
And for each one I emptied, the pile of gravel grew bigger...
A few minutes later I was sitting on the pavement outside Freddy's, after unceremoniously being thrown down his staircase by the two very nice minders.
My shoulder bag followed me down, hitting me in the back of the head.
I picked up the bag, and started walking, still numb with disbelief...
I idly slid my hand inside the bag, half expecting that this was some kind of dream, and the diamonds were really still in there.
I didn't find any diamonds, but my hand brushed a scrap of paper...
I pulled it out and held it up under the glare of a street lamp...
It was a page torn from a notebook...
The note said simply. THANK YOU
I couldn't recognise the handwriting...
But I sure as hell recognised the grinning cartoon character drawn next to it!
- - - - - - - - - -
Continued in :-
Cops and robbers (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Detective Inspector Bennett, aka Bugs, was a good cop, a very shrewd cop, his powers of deduction were legendary. Many a crim' had sat smugly in this room, giving him the runaround, only to be tripped up by something that they HADN'T said.
Bugs' thought processes were almost psychic, it was like watching an episode of Columbo.
There was no guesswork when he was on the case, he KNEW if you were guilty or not.
For him, then, it was just a case of using his extremely clever questioning technique to dig out the proof.
All the while we talked he was writing in his notebook, not writing notes, to be re-examined later, as he would like you to think. No, he was doodling, drawing to be more precise.
If you could sneak a look at his book, like 'Johnny The Dip' had once managed to, he would be sketching miniature cartoon characters, namely pictures of a grinning Bugs Bunny.
Of course this soon became common knowledge courtesy of Johnny, and the nickname was born.
No-one ever called D.I. Bennett Bugs to his face, not any more anyway.
The few people who had dared to had earned themselves a good slapping. He was a right hard nut he was, athletic, tough, his hobbies included rock climbing, pot-holing, sky diving, and he held a second dan black belt in karate too. Definitely not a man with whom you would want to bump heads with!
As I sat there I cast my mind back to earlier in the evening...
I had done the jewellers, a piece of cake it was too. After coming back outside I had cut straight across the old cobbled yard that ran alongside of it, and dropped the shoulder bag down the old dry well, I would recover it later when the heat was off.
It was pretty much laid on that I would get hauled in, every time a job like this was pulled I was in the top five names.
Just my luck! As I was coming out of the other side of the yard a police car cruised past.
Spinning on my heel I turned back into the yard, unzipped my flies, and pretended to be taking a leak. The boys in blue must have had a slow shift, they arrested me for possible indecent exposure.
Give me a break will you? There was no-one else around to look at the bloody thing apart from me.
Well, at least the ice was safe, and they'd have to release me after I'd spent several hours giving them nothing.
I would recover the loot in a few days, nice and quiet like.
Whilst I was in custody, news of the robbery came in. That was when it all went up a notch, and Bugs got onto my case. I would have been picked up for questioning on this one anyway, and there I was, all conveniently sitting in a cell, just ripe for the plucking.
“So!” Said Bugs. His tone soft, relaxed, “what were you doing in the yard?”
“You know what I was doing.” I replied, very casual. “I was taking a leak. Yeah I know, a bit naughty, but I got caught short on my way home from the Dog and Duck. I had a few pints in there, and when the cold hit me outside, well...”
Bugs scribbled in his notebook for a while.
He looked up from his doodling, and slowly looked me up and down, from my scalp, right down to the soles of my Italian leather shoes, and back again. His deadpan expression gave nothing away, but I felt like a laser had just burned its way up and down me.
“With anyone I might know?” He asked me.
“Johnny Preston, and Stumpy.”
I hadn't seen either of these two in more than a week, but they would spin Bugs a line for me.
More scribbling.
“Put him back in the cell, I'm going to have a word with Stumpy and 'The Dip'”
He glanced at the clock on the wall, ten past one.
“Those two fine upstanding citizens'll most likely be in the Sugar Cane club at this time of night.”
About an hour later, I was sat in the cell, idly examining the moss stains on my nice shoes, I must've scuffed them against the well wall when I threw the bag down there. I'll give 'em a good polishing tomorrow, can't stand having dirty shoes. I mean, you can tell a lot about a man by the state of his footwear can't you?
The door clanked, then swung open to reveal Bugs filling the door frame.
“Out” He said “Looks like you're in the clear.”
“What about the bollocksy indecent exposure charge?”
“I can't be arsed with the paperwork. Now off you toddle before I change my mind.”
I hit the street feeling like a million dollars. I could hardly believe my luck! I had fronted it!
I don't know what steered Bugs away from me, maybe something Johnny or Stumpy had said to him, but lady luck was definitely smiling my way. This tale will go down in history, once I've got the lovely untraceable cash for the goodies.
Bugs had me, and for once in his exemplary career he had screwed up. Ha!
Maybe his legendary intuition was finally beginning to fade!
I wasn't waiting for later to get the sparklers, as far as I was concerned the heat was already off. I would go for them now, collecting a torch from home on my way past. There was still three or four hours of darkness left, and I intended to grab the stuff, visit Fat Freddy the fence, and get myself home with the cash whilst the luck was still with me.
Half an hour later I was winching the bucket down the well. I slithered down the rope, holding the torch in my mouth, before long I felt my feet touch the soft earth at the bottom of the well. The torch beam fell across the bag... lovely jubbly!
Five minutes later I was walking down the road on my way to Fat Freddy's, when a familiar figure came lurching drunkenly towards me.
“Hey Stumpy, you're in a right state, you are. Thanks for helping me out with Bugs earlier on. There'll be a drink in it for you later.”
Stumpy looked at me as though I was talking gibberish. “Wha' the fug're ya talkin' 'bout?” he slurred, muttered something under his breath, then lurched drunkenly on his way.
Fat Freddy was very pleased to see me.
“OK, lets see the gear.”
I took one of the velvet envelopes from the bag, and emptied it out onto the table. Smiling broadly at Freddy.
“Feast your eyes on them stones Freddy.”
“Is this some kind of a joke?” Said Freddy.
His two minders eased their shoulders from the wall and ambled over to stand behind me at the table.
I looked down at the stones, that's exactly what I was looking at, stones!
Well, gravel to be more precise.
“What the...?”
I felt like I had just been slapped.
One by one I emptied the small black velvet bags onto the table...
And for each one I emptied, the pile of gravel grew bigger...
A few minutes later I was sitting on the pavement outside Freddy's, after unceremoniously being thrown down his staircase by the two very nice minders.
My shoulder bag followed me down, hitting me in the back of the head.
I picked up the bag, and started walking, still numb with disbelief...
I idly slid my hand inside the bag, half expecting that this was some kind of dream, and the diamonds were really still in there.
I didn't find any diamonds, but my hand brushed a scrap of paper...
I pulled it out and held it up under the glare of a street lamp...
It was a page torn from a notebook...
The note said simply. THANK YOU
I couldn't recognise the handwriting...
But I sure as hell recognised the grinning cartoon character drawn next to it!
- - - - - - - - - -
Continued in :-
Cops and robbers (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
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