I was very small when Pocker lips came.
I don't remember people falling.
I remember the beautiful black snow.
I remember the colourful stripey skies.
I remember playing sliding games on the shiny glass beaches.
I remember crunchy cockroach dinners.
I remember being found by big people.
I have been taken to live underground now.
I wish I could go outside and play.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 28 September 2012
Friday, 21 September 2012
The short cut (Part 3)
Anyone wishing to read the first two episodes of this mini-series can find them here:-
The short cut (Part 1)
The short cut (Part 2)
THE SHORT CUT (PART 3)
I shoved open the grille at the top of the ladder and clambered out onto tarmac.
The grille slammed shut with a clanging finality that told me it wouldn't open again even before I tried it.
The road looked familiar... but unfamiliar at the same time. It was definitely the road that led home, but there was something wrong about it, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
I started jogging up the white line, I just wanted to get home, go to bed, and hope that all this lunacy would be gone when I woke up again.
When I topped the last rise before my house I stopped for a breather, a few yards down the slope there was a sign in the centre of the road...
LEVEL 2 – CHECKPOINT
Just beyond the sign a strange-looking military vehicle was angled across the road and beside it an armed soldier, his back to me. There must be some emergency in progress, a bio-hazard or something, that would possibly explain some of this oddness. I didn't care, it was help, someone to take control and sort this mess out.
I ran towards the trooper, skirting around the sign as I went...
“Hey! .. Hey! .. I need help... Hey!”
At the sound of my voice the soldier spun on his heel to face me, instead of the fresh-faced grunt barely out of his teens that I expected to see, what poked from the uniform collar was a chittering clickering insectoid head...
Fire spewed from the barrel of its assault rifle and as the rounds impacted my world went black.
* * * * *
I woke up next to the CHECKPOINT sign in the road. I rose to my feet and looked down the slope.
The vehicle was still there, the insect soldier too, stood with its back to me just like before.
Walking as quietly as I could, and sliding the tyre iron from my belt, I crept toward it, I was almost there when my foot scuffed gravel.
The creature turned and fired in one smooth motion...
* * * * *
Awakening once more next to the signpost, I began to see a pattern emerging.
It sounded real crazy, but this was like being a character in a video game.
It took me six attempts before I managed to reach the mandible-mouthed asshole without it hearing me, I put every ounce of strength I had into laying that tyre iron into the back of its head, when it crumpled to the floor I laid into it several more times for good measure.
Green slime oozed from its skull and pooled on the tarmac.
The creature was the weirdest thing I have ever seen, a chitinous, but humanoid body with seven-digit clawed hands, and a face like a praying mantis. One ugly bug if ever I saw one.
I searched through the uniform and found two more magazines for the assault rifle, I threw these into my shoulder bag, which strangely didn't seem any fuller or heavier for the extra bulk.
A glance inside the vehicle squashed any ideas I might have of commandeering it, the controls looked so alien I wouldn't even think of trying to drive it.
Shouldering the assault rifle I set off in the direction of my home.
* * * * *
That was what seems now like a lifetime ago.
Many miles, many buildings, and many skirmishes ago.
Since then I've killed countless thousands of these “Buglies” as I've come to think of them.
Occasionally larger ones appear, great eight-legged brutes with massive firepower, sometimes it takes dozens of reincarnations before I get the measure of these things and find the weakness that brings them down.
I've battled and slaughtered my way to LEVEL 7 now, I have no idea how many levels there are, or if I will ever see my old life again.
Yeah, my old life...
My crappy job that I absolutely detest, with the jumped up little Hitler of a supervisor on my case all day.
My shitty home life of lonely TV dinners, and repeat shows, and getting drunk alone just to deaden the pain of it all.
Yeah, my old life.
Y'know what? Screw it, I don't even want to go back.
I click-clacked the slide, chambering a round into the breech of the combat shotgun, my favourite weapon so far. Oh yeah, the RPG and the sniper rifle have their uses, but when it came to close-quarters work this beauty could really spread that green slime across the walls.
I took a pace forward and kicked open the farmhouse door...
From inside, the loudening sounds of clicky-mouthed screeching came from multiple directions.
I ran inside, looking for targets...
“ROCK AND ROLL BABY”
The end:
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
The short cut (Part 1)
The short cut (Part 2)
THE SHORT CUT (PART 3)
I shoved open the grille at the top of the ladder and clambered out onto tarmac.
The grille slammed shut with a clanging finality that told me it wouldn't open again even before I tried it.
The road looked familiar... but unfamiliar at the same time. It was definitely the road that led home, but there was something wrong about it, something that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
I started jogging up the white line, I just wanted to get home, go to bed, and hope that all this lunacy would be gone when I woke up again.
When I topped the last rise before my house I stopped for a breather, a few yards down the slope there was a sign in the centre of the road...
LEVEL 2 – CHECKPOINT
Just beyond the sign a strange-looking military vehicle was angled across the road and beside it an armed soldier, his back to me. There must be some emergency in progress, a bio-hazard or something, that would possibly explain some of this oddness. I didn't care, it was help, someone to take control and sort this mess out.
I ran towards the trooper, skirting around the sign as I went...
“Hey! .. Hey! .. I need help... Hey!”
At the sound of my voice the soldier spun on his heel to face me, instead of the fresh-faced grunt barely out of his teens that I expected to see, what poked from the uniform collar was a chittering clickering insectoid head...
Fire spewed from the barrel of its assault rifle and as the rounds impacted my world went black.
* * * * *
I woke up next to the CHECKPOINT sign in the road. I rose to my feet and looked down the slope.
The vehicle was still there, the insect soldier too, stood with its back to me just like before.
Walking as quietly as I could, and sliding the tyre iron from my belt, I crept toward it, I was almost there when my foot scuffed gravel.
The creature turned and fired in one smooth motion...
* * * * *
Awakening once more next to the signpost, I began to see a pattern emerging.
It sounded real crazy, but this was like being a character in a video game.
It took me six attempts before I managed to reach the mandible-mouthed asshole without it hearing me, I put every ounce of strength I had into laying that tyre iron into the back of its head, when it crumpled to the floor I laid into it several more times for good measure.
Green slime oozed from its skull and pooled on the tarmac.
The creature was the weirdest thing I have ever seen, a chitinous, but humanoid body with seven-digit clawed hands, and a face like a praying mantis. One ugly bug if ever I saw one.
I searched through the uniform and found two more magazines for the assault rifle, I threw these into my shoulder bag, which strangely didn't seem any fuller or heavier for the extra bulk.
A glance inside the vehicle squashed any ideas I might have of commandeering it, the controls looked so alien I wouldn't even think of trying to drive it.
Shouldering the assault rifle I set off in the direction of my home.
* * * * *
That was what seems now like a lifetime ago.
Many miles, many buildings, and many skirmishes ago.
Since then I've killed countless thousands of these “Buglies” as I've come to think of them.
Occasionally larger ones appear, great eight-legged brutes with massive firepower, sometimes it takes dozens of reincarnations before I get the measure of these things and find the weakness that brings them down.
I've battled and slaughtered my way to LEVEL 7 now, I have no idea how many levels there are, or if I will ever see my old life again.
Yeah, my old life...
My crappy job that I absolutely detest, with the jumped up little Hitler of a supervisor on my case all day.
My shitty home life of lonely TV dinners, and repeat shows, and getting drunk alone just to deaden the pain of it all.
Yeah, my old life.
Y'know what? Screw it, I don't even want to go back.
I click-clacked the slide, chambering a round into the breech of the combat shotgun, my favourite weapon so far. Oh yeah, the RPG and the sniper rifle have their uses, but when it came to close-quarters work this beauty could really spread that green slime across the walls.
I took a pace forward and kicked open the farmhouse door...
From inside, the loudening sounds of clicky-mouthed screeching came from multiple directions.
I ran inside, looking for targets...
“ROCK AND ROLL BABY”
The end:
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 14 September 2012
The short cut (Part 2)
Anyone wishing to read Part 1 of this mini-series can find it here:-
The short cut (Part 1)
THE SHORT CUT (Part 2)
I started the engine, and drove along the lane in a blind panic, although the twists and turns belied the fact, it soon became obvious that I was still travelling in circles. Passing the oaks, crossing the bridge, time and time again, just hoping that this nightmare would end and I would suddenly reach the main road, or wake up in my bed to discover it was just that, a nightmare.
Eventually the car, which had been low on fuel to start with, ran dry. I left it in the middle of the road, and I began to walk.
The slower pace gave me more time to take in my strange surroundings. I discovered that walking into the woods led nowhere. A few yards in, and on both sides of the lane, an impenetrable barrier of sharply-thorned briar ran the full length of the short cut. There was no escape.
The second time I passed my abandoned car I gave it a thorough search, looking for anything that may be useful.
My small shoulder bag containing a packed lunch was still on the passenger seat, I ate the sandwich and drank half of the orange juice, then slung the bag onto my shoulder, the apple and chocolate bar I would save for later.
In the glove compartment I found a small torch, kept there for night-time emergencies, not very powerful but the batteries were in good shape. I threw this into the bag alongside my half empty lunch box.
In the boot the only thing apart from the spare wheel and jack was a hefty tyre iron, which I slid into my belt, god only knows what I intended to use it for but it gave me a measure of comfort just knowing it was there.
I trudged once more along the narrow lane until again I came to the bridge, stopping in the centre of it I took a long look in all directions.
Of course! Why didn't I think of it before? The briar didn't grow across the stream, there was my escape route, my salvation.
Deciding it would be easier on the calf muscles to go with the flow, I waded into the knee-deep water and set off downstream.
The overhanging foliage dappled the sunlight on the water, a sight I would have appreciated the beauty of had it not been for the seriousness of the situation.
Trout swam lazily in the bright water, they would have been easy to catch too, it wasn't the thought of eating raw fish that prevented me from grabbing a couple, it was fear of the sign. “POACHERS WILL BE PERSECUTED” I wasn't entirely sure what that entailed, but it certainly didn't sound like something good.
On and on I went, my feet were cold and freezing, but I was driven with the expectation of discovering a break in the dense foliage on one of the banks, any moment now I would find the way out of this predicament.
There... A hundred yards or so downstream... A structure of some kind... Something!
I quickened my pace, pushing my tired legs harder through the water, eager to get to whatever it was that I could see.
As I neared the structure my heart sank, I felt like weeping, it was the bridge, the same one I had set off from.
I sat down wearily on a jutting mid-stream rock, exhaustion and despair were taking their toll.
That's when I saw it!
A tunnel! From my low vantage point I could see underneath the bridge, and there, built into the bank beneath the wooden support beams was a concrete pipe, about three feet in diameter, and heading off in the direction of the main road... and home.
The sense of relief was overpowering. I stared long and hard at the opening before plucking up the courage to approach it.
I shone the torch down the tunnel, the light penetrated a few yards, revealing a perfectly straight, and spotlessly clean tube. There was something strange about that too, I mean, I would have expected the tunnel to be slimy or muddy, or insect-infested, but no, it looked as though it had been built yesterday.
Holding the torch in my mouth I climbed into the tunnel and began to crawl.
I tried not to think about the pain in my knees or the ache in my back as I made my way along the pipe, I just concentrated on keeping moving.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only several minutes, I thought I could see a speck of light a long, long way off. I switched off the torch, I might be needing what battery life was left later.
Yes, yes, there was light!
I moved faster, eager to be out of the claustrophobic confines of the tunnel. It had also struck me that I couldn't turn round in here even if I wanted to, which also meant it was an ideal place for someone... or thing, to attack me.
I crawled along toward the light, which grew larger and brighter by the minute.
Reaching the end of the pipe I emerged into a brightly lit but small concrete room.
I stood upright, stretching the knots out of my aching back and limbs.
The room was illuminated by a single neon light set into the far wall, to my left a vertical steel ladder rose to the ceiling and continued its way upwards through a square shaft.
I gripped the rungs of the ladder, and began to climb.
Continued in:-
The short cut (Part 3)
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
The short cut (Part 1)
THE SHORT CUT (Part 2)
I started the engine, and drove along the lane in a blind panic, although the twists and turns belied the fact, it soon became obvious that I was still travelling in circles. Passing the oaks, crossing the bridge, time and time again, just hoping that this nightmare would end and I would suddenly reach the main road, or wake up in my bed to discover it was just that, a nightmare.
Eventually the car, which had been low on fuel to start with, ran dry. I left it in the middle of the road, and I began to walk.
The slower pace gave me more time to take in my strange surroundings. I discovered that walking into the woods led nowhere. A few yards in, and on both sides of the lane, an impenetrable barrier of sharply-thorned briar ran the full length of the short cut. There was no escape.
The second time I passed my abandoned car I gave it a thorough search, looking for anything that may be useful.
My small shoulder bag containing a packed lunch was still on the passenger seat, I ate the sandwich and drank half of the orange juice, then slung the bag onto my shoulder, the apple and chocolate bar I would save for later.
In the glove compartment I found a small torch, kept there for night-time emergencies, not very powerful but the batteries were in good shape. I threw this into the bag alongside my half empty lunch box.
In the boot the only thing apart from the spare wheel and jack was a hefty tyre iron, which I slid into my belt, god only knows what I intended to use it for but it gave me a measure of comfort just knowing it was there.
I trudged once more along the narrow lane until again I came to the bridge, stopping in the centre of it I took a long look in all directions.
Of course! Why didn't I think of it before? The briar didn't grow across the stream, there was my escape route, my salvation.
Deciding it would be easier on the calf muscles to go with the flow, I waded into the knee-deep water and set off downstream.
The overhanging foliage dappled the sunlight on the water, a sight I would have appreciated the beauty of had it not been for the seriousness of the situation.
Trout swam lazily in the bright water, they would have been easy to catch too, it wasn't the thought of eating raw fish that prevented me from grabbing a couple, it was fear of the sign. “POACHERS WILL BE PERSECUTED” I wasn't entirely sure what that entailed, but it certainly didn't sound like something good.
On and on I went, my feet were cold and freezing, but I was driven with the expectation of discovering a break in the dense foliage on one of the banks, any moment now I would find the way out of this predicament.
There... A hundred yards or so downstream... A structure of some kind... Something!
I quickened my pace, pushing my tired legs harder through the water, eager to get to whatever it was that I could see.
As I neared the structure my heart sank, I felt like weeping, it was the bridge, the same one I had set off from.
I sat down wearily on a jutting mid-stream rock, exhaustion and despair were taking their toll.
That's when I saw it!
A tunnel! From my low vantage point I could see underneath the bridge, and there, built into the bank beneath the wooden support beams was a concrete pipe, about three feet in diameter, and heading off in the direction of the main road... and home.
The sense of relief was overpowering. I stared long and hard at the opening before plucking up the courage to approach it.
I shone the torch down the tunnel, the light penetrated a few yards, revealing a perfectly straight, and spotlessly clean tube. There was something strange about that too, I mean, I would have expected the tunnel to be slimy or muddy, or insect-infested, but no, it looked as though it had been built yesterday.
Holding the torch in my mouth I climbed into the tunnel and began to crawl.
I tried not to think about the pain in my knees or the ache in my back as I made my way along the pipe, I just concentrated on keeping moving.
After what seemed like hours, but was probably only several minutes, I thought I could see a speck of light a long, long way off. I switched off the torch, I might be needing what battery life was left later.
Yes, yes, there was light!
I moved faster, eager to be out of the claustrophobic confines of the tunnel. It had also struck me that I couldn't turn round in here even if I wanted to, which also meant it was an ideal place for someone... or thing, to attack me.
I crawled along toward the light, which grew larger and brighter by the minute.
Reaching the end of the pipe I emerged into a brightly lit but small concrete room.
I stood upright, stretching the knots out of my aching back and limbs.
The room was illuminated by a single neon light set into the far wall, to my left a vertical steel ladder rose to the ceiling and continued its way upwards through a square shaft.
I gripped the rungs of the ladder, and began to climb.
Continued in:-
The short cut (Part 3)
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 7 September 2012
The short cut (Part 1)
I had found the short cut completely by accident.
Feeling nauseous, I just had to get out of the crawling rush hour traffic, and had turned into a narrow lane not much wider than the car.
After switching off the engine I climbed out of the vehicle, the space to breathe in a little fresh air calmed my heaving stomach, and before long I felt well enough to continue.
I travelled on along the little lane looking for somewhere to turn around, passing beautiful glades and greenery along the way.
After a couple of miles I came to a quaint wooden bridge spanning a shallow but rapid stream. The sign at the side declared:- “TROUTBROOK CROSSING … POACHERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.”
I drove over the bridge, and after another quarter of a mile or so the road emerged onto a major A road which I recognised immediately, I was only about two miles from home, the short cut down the lane had taken fifteen miles and the best part of an hour off my commute, oh this was indeed a gem of a discovery.
I wasn't really surprised that I had seen no other traffic on the little lane, it wasn't on the map, and both entrances to it were so hard to spot from the road a person would just drive straight by totally oblivious to their existence, as I had been doing for years now.
I used the short cut every day from then on, the time it saved me enabled me to have a leisurely breakfast instead of dashing to the car with keys in one hand and a half-eaten slice of toast in the other.
After a few weeks I became aware of odd changes taking place along the lane, unnerving changes.
There was one particular spot where three oak trees stood side by side at the road's edge, their leafy branches overhanging, and diffusing the light for several yards. One morning when I passed there were only two trees, this in itself, although noticeable did not seem particularly strange, one of the trees must have been infected and had to be cut down, but in the back of my mind a little voice said, “Well, where is the stump then?”
The tree had reappeared when I passed the spot on my way home, convincing me that I had imagined it in the first place, until the next morning when I passed and there was not three, but four trees.
Alarm bells started ringing...
Another day the sign at the bridge said “TROUTBROOK CROSSING … POACHERS WILL BE PERSECUTED.”
Some days a bend in the road would be sharper or shallower than before, other days flowers by the roadside would have changed colour overnight.
Although these changes were strange, there was nothing threatening about them, and so I continued to use the short cut, only now I tended to actually look closely for anything that was different or out of the ordinary.
When I actually looked for it, there was always something to see, sometimes a large, sometimes a minute difference to spot, but still something, every day.
I began to see this as a kind of game, and each day eagerly awaited my journeys, playing “Spot the difference” and I was happily thrilled once I had discovered the change.
Until today, if there were something different I couldn't spot it, feeling cheated I turned the car around when I reached the major road, and set off down the lane again in the opposite direction, I must have missed it, it was there to find, I just needed to look a little closer.
I had crossed the bridge and almost reached the far end of the lane again, and was feeling frustrated that I hadn't noticed anything different when it dawned on me I would probably be late for work.
I glanced at my wristwatch, jeez, I was due to start in twenty five minutes, this wasn't good.
I pressed the accelerator harder, driving as fast as I dare on the narrow twisting road, I would reach the end soon and be able to turn around. With luck, and a bit of risky driving I would just about make it in time.
The car hit air as I took the bridge too fast, bouncing on the springs as it landed heavily on the other side...
A chilling thought crept into my brain...
“That's the second time I've crossed the bridge!”
I drove faster still, the trees a passing green blur, the four oaks flashed past, and before long I was speeding towards the bridge again.
“What the...?” I was driving round in circles, how the hell could that be happening?
I glanced at my wristwatch again, and my heart went suddenly cold.
My hand looked different, the fingers seemed shorter, more stubby than they should.
Panicking, I slewed the car to a stop and cut the engine.
I tilted the rear-view mirror and took a good look at my reflection.
The face that stared back at me was that of a complete stranger.
Continued in:-
The short cut (Part 2)
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Feeling nauseous, I just had to get out of the crawling rush hour traffic, and had turned into a narrow lane not much wider than the car.
After switching off the engine I climbed out of the vehicle, the space to breathe in a little fresh air calmed my heaving stomach, and before long I felt well enough to continue.
I travelled on along the little lane looking for somewhere to turn around, passing beautiful glades and greenery along the way.
After a couple of miles I came to a quaint wooden bridge spanning a shallow but rapid stream. The sign at the side declared:- “TROUTBROOK CROSSING … POACHERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.”
I drove over the bridge, and after another quarter of a mile or so the road emerged onto a major A road which I recognised immediately, I was only about two miles from home, the short cut down the lane had taken fifteen miles and the best part of an hour off my commute, oh this was indeed a gem of a discovery.
I wasn't really surprised that I had seen no other traffic on the little lane, it wasn't on the map, and both entrances to it were so hard to spot from the road a person would just drive straight by totally oblivious to their existence, as I had been doing for years now.
I used the short cut every day from then on, the time it saved me enabled me to have a leisurely breakfast instead of dashing to the car with keys in one hand and a half-eaten slice of toast in the other.
After a few weeks I became aware of odd changes taking place along the lane, unnerving changes.
There was one particular spot where three oak trees stood side by side at the road's edge, their leafy branches overhanging, and diffusing the light for several yards. One morning when I passed there were only two trees, this in itself, although noticeable did not seem particularly strange, one of the trees must have been infected and had to be cut down, but in the back of my mind a little voice said, “Well, where is the stump then?”
The tree had reappeared when I passed the spot on my way home, convincing me that I had imagined it in the first place, until the next morning when I passed and there was not three, but four trees.
Alarm bells started ringing...
Another day the sign at the bridge said “TROUTBROOK CROSSING … POACHERS WILL BE PERSECUTED.”
Some days a bend in the road would be sharper or shallower than before, other days flowers by the roadside would have changed colour overnight.
Although these changes were strange, there was nothing threatening about them, and so I continued to use the short cut, only now I tended to actually look closely for anything that was different or out of the ordinary.
When I actually looked for it, there was always something to see, sometimes a large, sometimes a minute difference to spot, but still something, every day.
I began to see this as a kind of game, and each day eagerly awaited my journeys, playing “Spot the difference” and I was happily thrilled once I had discovered the change.
Until today, if there were something different I couldn't spot it, feeling cheated I turned the car around when I reached the major road, and set off down the lane again in the opposite direction, I must have missed it, it was there to find, I just needed to look a little closer.
I had crossed the bridge and almost reached the far end of the lane again, and was feeling frustrated that I hadn't noticed anything different when it dawned on me I would probably be late for work.
I glanced at my wristwatch, jeez, I was due to start in twenty five minutes, this wasn't good.
I pressed the accelerator harder, driving as fast as I dare on the narrow twisting road, I would reach the end soon and be able to turn around. With luck, and a bit of risky driving I would just about make it in time.
The car hit air as I took the bridge too fast, bouncing on the springs as it landed heavily on the other side...
A chilling thought crept into my brain...
“That's the second time I've crossed the bridge!”
I drove faster still, the trees a passing green blur, the four oaks flashed past, and before long I was speeding towards the bridge again.
“What the...?” I was driving round in circles, how the hell could that be happening?
I glanced at my wristwatch again, and my heart went suddenly cold.
My hand looked different, the fingers seemed shorter, more stubby than they should.
Panicking, I slewed the car to a stop and cut the engine.
I tilted the rear-view mirror and took a good look at my reflection.
The face that stared back at me was that of a complete stranger.
Continued in:-
The short cut (Part 2)
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 31 August 2012
Winter is forever
Hi everyone, and thank you for reading. Although I have several short stories in the queue for posting, I thought that this week I would have a change and do something completely different.
Instead of a flash fiction story, I decided to post the lyrics of a song that I wrote way back in 1985.
The song is sung in a similar, but very slightly faster and more upbeat lilt than Bob Dylan's “Tomorrow is a long time.”
WINTER IS FOREVER
When I could no longer see that rainbow,
And clouds hid the beauty of the skies,
Your song could make my shadow touch the ground,
And the words bring the colours to my eyes.
And when silence broke those walls I'd laid around me,
And all I'd left was feeling disinclined,
The echo of your voice was there to guide me,
And I couldn't help but read between the lines.
* * * * * * * * * *
Refrain:
But I don't mind if winter is forever,
And I don't mind the cold morning rain,
I don't think at all about tomorrow,
When I hold you to my breast once again.
* * * * * * * * * *
I've heard the sound of full-grown men crying,
And I've heard the sound of rivers running dry,
I've heard the sound of castle walls falling,
And I've heard so many different reasons why.
I've seen mountains turn to sand while I was climbing,
And I've seen the truth, of living in a lie,
And yet all those spectral memories still haunt me,
Like the broken wings I tried so hard to fly.
* * * * * * * * * *
I held you in the night while you were sleeping,
And stayed awake to catch you should you fall,
I carried you through darkness 'til the daybreak,
And you didn't seem to weigh anything at all.
We walked those golden fields and silver beaches,
Sailed our magic carpet across the sky,
Though I never really thought it was forever,
I don't think it was a waste of time to try.
©1985 Stephen. J. Green.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Instead of a flash fiction story, I decided to post the lyrics of a song that I wrote way back in 1985.
The song is sung in a similar, but very slightly faster and more upbeat lilt than Bob Dylan's “Tomorrow is a long time.”
WINTER IS FOREVER
When I could no longer see that rainbow,
And clouds hid the beauty of the skies,
Your song could make my shadow touch the ground,
And the words bring the colours to my eyes.
And when silence broke those walls I'd laid around me,
And all I'd left was feeling disinclined,
The echo of your voice was there to guide me,
And I couldn't help but read between the lines.
* * * * * * * * * *
Refrain:
But I don't mind if winter is forever,
And I don't mind the cold morning rain,
I don't think at all about tomorrow,
When I hold you to my breast once again.
* * * * * * * * * *
I've heard the sound of full-grown men crying,
And I've heard the sound of rivers running dry,
I've heard the sound of castle walls falling,
And I've heard so many different reasons why.
I've seen mountains turn to sand while I was climbing,
And I've seen the truth, of living in a lie,
And yet all those spectral memories still haunt me,
Like the broken wings I tried so hard to fly.
* * * * * * * * * *
I held you in the night while you were sleeping,
And stayed awake to catch you should you fall,
I carried you through darkness 'til the daybreak,
And you didn't seem to weigh anything at all.
We walked those golden fields and silver beaches,
Sailed our magic carpet across the sky,
Though I never really thought it was forever,
I don't think it was a waste of time to try.
©1985 Stephen. J. Green.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 24 August 2012
Colours
She spoke to me in blues and greys, in dull shades her voice droned on and on.
She could tell I was becoming bored, restless and beige.
Her voice lightened a shade, brightened a shade, the occasional flicker of yellow lifted the mood, piqued my interest.
Richer hues tinged her words, bright greens swirled to the surface mingling with vibrant oranges and dazzling pinks.
As she leant into me her face transformed into an iridescent kaleidoscopic beauty.
We kissed deeply, turquoisely, tongues an intertwining, shifting, glittering rainbow.
We made love in shattering purples and blinding reds.
Eventually, sated, we fell asleep, soothing pastel shades crowded our dreams, eased our hearts.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
She could tell I was becoming bored, restless and beige.
Her voice lightened a shade, brightened a shade, the occasional flicker of yellow lifted the mood, piqued my interest.
Richer hues tinged her words, bright greens swirled to the surface mingling with vibrant oranges and dazzling pinks.
As she leant into me her face transformed into an iridescent kaleidoscopic beauty.
We kissed deeply, turquoisely, tongues an intertwining, shifting, glittering rainbow.
We made love in shattering purples and blinding reds.
Eventually, sated, we fell asleep, soothing pastel shades crowded our dreams, eased our hearts.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 3 August 2012
Coping
Hi everyone, and thanks for dropping by. I'm going on holiday next weekend, so I won't be posting a #fridayflash for the next couple of weeks.
Have fun...
PS.
Although I won't be posting a story for the next two Fridays, and I won't be taking my computer with me, I'll try to find time to read #fridayflashes next Friday before we set off, and on the following weekend when we get back.
* * * * * * * * * *
COPING
I picked up the phone on the second ring, glad of the distraction, something to take my eye and mind away from all the black clothing, the chatter, and the buffet appreciation.
It was an old friend, Simon, his voice was a welcome oasis amidst this desert of emotional pretence.
Simon apologised for his absence, family commitments plus the sheer distance involved made it impossible for him to get here. He offered his condolences and asked how I was coping with the day. Just knowing that he cared helped, it helped a lot.
We chatted for a few minutes, then left each other with a promise to get together some time in the near future.
I hung up the phone and glanced around the room at all the people, the little huddles playing catch-up. The sound of occasional laughter further deepened the pain in my heart.
Janine had never been one of the popular relatives, she was thought of as loud and brash, they hadn't known her as I had, she used volume to conceal lack of self confidence, to paper over the emotional scars of childhood abuse and the stripped away self esteem it brought with it.
No amount of talking or counselling could ever make her see her own beauty, and she was beautiful, inside and outside, and yet she took her own life.
A hole had been ripped into my life that none of these present would ever believe she was capable of leaving.
Soon all of these people would be gone, away to resume their own lives, and I would be left alone with my memories.
Maybe, given time, the hole would become smaller... Maybe.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Have fun...
PS.
Although I won't be posting a story for the next two Fridays, and I won't be taking my computer with me, I'll try to find time to read #fridayflashes next Friday before we set off, and on the following weekend when we get back.
* * * * * * * * * *
COPING
I picked up the phone on the second ring, glad of the distraction, something to take my eye and mind away from all the black clothing, the chatter, and the buffet appreciation.
It was an old friend, Simon, his voice was a welcome oasis amidst this desert of emotional pretence.
Simon apologised for his absence, family commitments plus the sheer distance involved made it impossible for him to get here. He offered his condolences and asked how I was coping with the day. Just knowing that he cared helped, it helped a lot.
We chatted for a few minutes, then left each other with a promise to get together some time in the near future.
I hung up the phone and glanced around the room at all the people, the little huddles playing catch-up. The sound of occasional laughter further deepened the pain in my heart.
Janine had never been one of the popular relatives, she was thought of as loud and brash, they hadn't known her as I had, she used volume to conceal lack of self confidence, to paper over the emotional scars of childhood abuse and the stripped away self esteem it brought with it.
No amount of talking or counselling could ever make her see her own beauty, and she was beautiful, inside and outside, and yet she took her own life.
A hole had been ripped into my life that none of these present would ever believe she was capable of leaving.
Soon all of these people would be gone, away to resume their own lives, and I would be left alone with my memories.
Maybe, given time, the hole would become smaller... Maybe.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 27 July 2012
Ink
Hi, and thanks for dropping by.
Once again I have the honour of writing a guest post for John Xero's blog, this week I am at his second blog which is called 101-FICTION
This is where John posts a story each week consisting of a 1 word title, and a 100 word story, hence the title of the blog.
Lately John has opened up 101 for other writers to try their hand at this very short, and word-limited fiction, and I am delighted to submit my own story for publication there.
You will find John's 101 blog here:- 101-FICTION.
My own 101 word submission is here:- INK
I hope you enjoy it.
Anyone who is not familiar with John's work are missing something very special, he is an excellent writer, mostly of genre fiction, Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror, and is always well worth the visit.
John's main blog where he posts his longer fiction can be found here:- XEROVERSE.
Thank you for reading.
Steve Green.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
INK
The idea for the story came to me in a dream.
Today I would give it life.
Several hours later and the words are still gushing forth, the story is like an irresistible force, compelling.
The computer had frazzled out after only a few hundred words, so I continued with a ballpoint pen and notebook.
When the ballpoint dried out I reached for my trusty old fountain pen.
When the ink ran dry I had to find another writing source. This story simply had to be written.
I only hope I can complete it before I run out of blood.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 20 July 2012
Going grey
When I was younger the lines were so sharply drawn, everything was either right or wrong, good or bad, legal or illegal, moral or immoral, black or white.
The blackest of blacks, the whitest of whites, separated by a razor-thin divide.
As I grew older the grey began to creep in, and the lines became blurred, indistinct.
As I approach the winter of my days, the grey area has spread further, become all-encompassing, black and white no longer seem to exist any more.
Now I find it almost impossible to venture even the smallest opinion, or make the most trivial decision.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
The blackest of blacks, the whitest of whites, separated by a razor-thin divide.
As I grew older the grey began to creep in, and the lines became blurred, indistinct.
As I approach the winter of my days, the grey area has spread further, become all-encompassing, black and white no longer seem to exist any more.
Now I find it almost impossible to venture even the smallest opinion, or make the most trivial decision.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 13 July 2012
Pigmentation
I wasn't too concerned when the first blotches appeared on my skin, a small cluster just below my right armpit. As the weeks passed the cluster grew until it covered the whole side of my body, and upwards towards my shoulder.
Several visits to the Doctor, and a variety of creams and balms had absolutely no effect on the skin problem, week upon week the invasion continued.
“Who the hell wants to go out with a freakin' leopard man?” My now ex-girlfriend had laughed at me as she walked away.
The following months saw me visiting a succession of consultants, skin specialists, scientists, until eventually I was admitted to the Military Sciences Unit for tests and observation.
That was where I learned the rest of it.
No-one told me anything directly, I just put the pieces together from overheard snatches of conversation and surreptitious peeks at momentarily abandoned medical clipboards.
The coloration was occurring on a genetic level, my skin pigmentation was somehow altering of its own volition. And the doctors had no answers as to why.
I was not the only one to be stricken with this curse, across the world the average was approximately one in fifty thousand people, and although I never saw any of them, there were another seventeen patients somewhere in this facility, all with identical symptoms to mine.
All of the reported cases were evenly divided between male and female, and all within the age group of fifteen to twenty two years old.
I had been in the Unit for several months now, and the whole of my body had been affected. The blotches, which ranged in size and shape, were varied in colour, just now they ranged from light caramel to dark chocolate, the skin between them a rich shade of ochre. Some days they seemed to alter, to reflect my surroundings. One day after strolling round the gardens for a while I noticed the blotches had taken on shades of greens and browns, and lately theses changes seemed to take effect more quickly than before.
There wasn't a day went by that I didn't rant at the doctors, at the world, at God, for my predicament. Why the hell had I had this damned curse forced upon me?
The answer was on its way.
* * * * * *
When civilisation fell, it fell hard, it fell fast, it fell all the way, and to all intents and purposes it fell permanently.
I hunt naked now. The useless encumbrance of clothes long since discarded.
The Pinkies are easy to spot, easy to catch, easy to kill... and easy to eat.
After the collapse it had soon dawned on me just what my curse was for.
A blessing in disguise, so to speak.
Camouflage.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
Several visits to the Doctor, and a variety of creams and balms had absolutely no effect on the skin problem, week upon week the invasion continued.
“Who the hell wants to go out with a freakin' leopard man?” My now ex-girlfriend had laughed at me as she walked away.
The following months saw me visiting a succession of consultants, skin specialists, scientists, until eventually I was admitted to the Military Sciences Unit for tests and observation.
That was where I learned the rest of it.
No-one told me anything directly, I just put the pieces together from overheard snatches of conversation and surreptitious peeks at momentarily abandoned medical clipboards.
The coloration was occurring on a genetic level, my skin pigmentation was somehow altering of its own volition. And the doctors had no answers as to why.
I was not the only one to be stricken with this curse, across the world the average was approximately one in fifty thousand people, and although I never saw any of them, there were another seventeen patients somewhere in this facility, all with identical symptoms to mine.
All of the reported cases were evenly divided between male and female, and all within the age group of fifteen to twenty two years old.
I had been in the Unit for several months now, and the whole of my body had been affected. The blotches, which ranged in size and shape, were varied in colour, just now they ranged from light caramel to dark chocolate, the skin between them a rich shade of ochre. Some days they seemed to alter, to reflect my surroundings. One day after strolling round the gardens for a while I noticed the blotches had taken on shades of greens and browns, and lately theses changes seemed to take effect more quickly than before.
There wasn't a day went by that I didn't rant at the doctors, at the world, at God, for my predicament. Why the hell had I had this damned curse forced upon me?
The answer was on its way.
* * * * * *
When civilisation fell, it fell hard, it fell fast, it fell all the way, and to all intents and purposes it fell permanently.
I hunt naked now. The useless encumbrance of clothes long since discarded.
The Pinkies are easy to spot, easy to catch, easy to kill... and easy to eat.
After the collapse it had soon dawned on me just what my curse was for.
A blessing in disguise, so to speak.
Camouflage.
©2012 Stephen. J. Green.
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