On the ledge (Part 1)

I was reasonably comfortable sitting on the narrow ledge, despite my left arm being torn and shredded, that was sure gonna hurt when the shock wore off though.

I could hear the thing pacing about at the top of the cliff some twenty feet or so above me. The stealthy silence it used before the attack unnecessary now as it prowled about impatiently, a horrible symphony of snapping twigs and clickety claws, overlaid with deeper growls and incisor-gnashing snarls.

At least these noises were easier to deal with than the earlier ones of snapping bones, tearing flesh, and slurping mastication as what was left of my friends were disappearing down its throat.

The camping holiday of a lifetime, yeah, a beer and a laugh around the camp fire had changed rapidly into something else the moment John's hand slapped me wetly in my face, just his hand, the rest of him was hitting other places as he was torn limb from limb.

By the time I had recovered enough to run the creature had almost finished with Paul and Billy. I caught a slashing blow from one massive claw across my upper arm as I dodged around it, just before I tripped and went headlong over the cliff edge.

Something warm dripped onto the top of my head, then trickled its way down the back of my neck and under my collar, cooling as it slimed its way down my spine. I ran my hand over my scalp, then looked at my fingers, slick with globs of drooly, blood-slicked saliva. I didn't need to look up to know the thing was staring down at me. I could almost taste its hunger, and rage.

Occasionally the clouds would part slightly allowing the full moon to peep through and reflect yellow off the dark sea below. It had been a beautiful sight earlier in the day with the sun glinting off the water. We had sat drinking and joking as the sun had gone down, making plans for the morning.

Well, those plans were in the bin now.

I considered my options, such as they were.

I couldn't climb back up, although I guess the creature at the top of the cliff would be absolutely delighted to see me. I couldn't go downwards, the view from the cliff was magnificent during the day, affording a beautiful seascape, also a grand view of a sheer, two hundred foot drop onto the rocks below.

Ah well, I guess I'll just wait.

I rummaged around in my pockets. Keys, comb, a stick of gum, two hundred and sixty dollars plus change. Ha! Maybe I could buy my way out of this mess?

I unwrapped the gum and stuck it in my mouth, chewed on it slowly as I put the wrapper back into my pocket. Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints. I suppressed a hysterical giggle. Yeah, leave nothing but footprints, and bloodstains, and friends.

I felt my stomach lurch slightly as the sugary spearmint worked its way down. I was gonna need to take a crap soon. Jeez, could this night possibly get any worse?

I know one thing for sure, whatever happens I won't coming back here for another holiday.


Continued in:- On the ledge (Part 2)


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.

Pebbles

“She's not the only pebble on the beach. Once we're married I'll be rolling in it, then I'll have my choice of any pebble that takes my fancy.”

Rachel had slipped back out of the bathroom to grab the forgotten towel and overheard David on the phone. She froze in shock. Her mind refusing to believe what she had just heard.

She returned to the bathroom and climbed into the hot foamy water, tears of grief rolling down her cheeks. How could he? Why would he treat her this way? He loved her. Her money didn't matter, he would love her just the same if she had been penniless, that's what he had always said.

As the water cooled, so did her feelings for David, she felt hollow, empty inside. A seething anger boiled up within her, filling the void.

By the time she had finished bathing and dressed she had retained her usual composure. She walked into the lounge smiling as if nothing had changed between them. Her voice betrayed no trace of the rage she was holding inside.

“I want to go down to the beach this evening and watch the sunset, it's so romantic, don't you think?”

“What? Uh... oh yeah.” David pasted an interested expression on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.

And so before long they were strolling side by side, their shoes crunching deeply into the shingle.

After only a few minutes Rachel stopped suddenly, and fixed David with an icy stare that would have frozen lava.

“What's wrong?” Said David.

Rachel didn't reply, she bent down and selected a pebble from the beach, she placed it in the flat of her hand, holding it out so David could see it clearly. Pushing it up right under his nose.

“Take a good look at it David. Don't you think it's beautiful? Do you see the patterns? The way the different shades of grey follow each other? They look so much like a heart within a heart within a heart. Do you see it David? Do you?”

“Yes, yes I can see it. What of it? It's just a goddam pebble.”

“Oh, this isn't just any old pebble David, this is a special pebble, a very special pebble. Look at it.”

David stifled a yawn. “ I am looki...”

“LOOK AT IT!”

David started, alarmed at Rachel's sudden temper, and the snarl of her lips. He had never seen her behave this way before.

David stared into her eyes as Rachel drew her arm back and threw the pebble as far as she could along the beach. He heard the faint chink-skitter as it landed somewhere far behind him.

Rachel turned her back on David and began to walk away, the last rays of the setting sun pinkening her ivory blouse, she called over her shoulder.

“Bring it back to me before dawn, or the wedding is off.”


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.

A state of mind

Even though he was under heavy sedation Richard was still vaguely aware of the sensors and probes working their way through his subconscious mind.

He felt his imagination being stretched ever so slightly. The occasional frisson as a stray negative thought was terminated. A slight tickling here and there as some of his emotions were enhanced and others dulled. From time to time he experienced a prolonged cerebral itchiness as major re-routing or rewiring work was in progress.

Richard awoke to the beaming smiles of the doctor, and technician. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

“How did it go Doc?”

“Oh, extremely well.” Replied the doctor. “You see, happiness has absolutely nothing to do with possessions or achievements, it is purely a state of mind. Now, if you would just sign these papers, here... here... here... and here. And then you can be on your way. The new, happier you.”

The doctor's grin grew even wider as he passed the pen to Richard.

Richard scanned the main points on the document. It would mean selling almost every possession he owned to pay the initial medical costs. House, car, electrical equipment and such. Forty percent of his wages would be deducted at source until he reached state retirement age too, but Richard did feel deliriously happy as he scribbled his signature.


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.

Soundtrack to my life

Today I am very happy to say that I have the honour of being the SOUNDTRACK TO MY LIFE guest on Nickie O'Hara's very successful blog TYPECAST.

The “Soundtrack to my life” slot is a regular Monday feature on Typecast, an extremely popular post that has been running for over two years now. Guests have to choose five of their favourite songs that have particular memories or emotions attached to them, and write a short note explaining the story behind each each song. Nickie then adds all the Youtube videos for everyone to watch, listen to, and enjoy.

Anyone can be a guest on “Soundtrack to my life” so pop on over to Typecast and check it out.

Nickie is an excellent writer and blogger, and Typecast covers many different topics and issues. Some personal, some comical (Nickie also has a razor-sharp wit too), and sometimes controversial and debatable issues. So while you are over there have a good browse.

Nickie also occasionally puts her talents into fiction writing, and some of you may recall her guest post on The Twisted Quill to celebrate its first birthday, she wrote a short piece entitled “AS LONG AS HE NEEDS ME” The post was very well received, and enjoyed a massive amount of readers.

Nickie is the person almost solely responsible for my venturing out into flash fiction writing almost four years ago, and hence The Birth of The Twisted Quill. Thank you for the support and the confidence boost that started me down the fiction writing highway Nickie, I've had much enjoyment and met a great many nice people along the way, and thank you for giving me the guest slot today. It's been quite a while since I was on Typecast, and it feels really good to be gracing those pages again.

Best wishes Nickie.

Steve.

It ain't over...

“This ain't over yet.”

Those were the words spoken by Rory McHat when his eldest was brought to him, the blood still drying on his clothes, the life gone from him. It had been a fair fight Rory heard, but he never saw that, he only saw the husk of his son.

That was the start of it. Twenty three years later and the feud had claimed almost seventy lives. Coyfields and McHats had perished in equal numbers. The hatred for each other bred into them from infancy, and nurtured throughout their lives, sometimes their very short lives.

The pointless, senseless slaughter had reached out into their homes, sometimes met them on freeways or in bars, occasionally even into the classrooms.

And now it was down to this.

Jason McHat glared over the table at Raymond Coyfield, his eyes burned with hatred.

“Well, I'm here, like you asked. Is there anything you want to say before I tear your throat out?”

A tear trickled from the corner of Raymond's eye. Jason watched unbelievingly as it wove a meandering path down Raymond's cheek, hung from his chin a moment then dripped to the floor. He had never seen a Coyfield cry before.

When Raymond finally spoke his voice was gentle, compassionate. “After all the years, all the waste, there is only you and me now Jason, the last of our lines. There was a time I had a wife and four children, and like your kin the feud has claimed them all, one by one they've all been taken. This ends here, now, today.”

“It ain't over yet.” Snarled Jason. “Not while one of us still lives.”

“I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine.” Said Raymond quietly. “Someone I met not so long ago, she showed me another way to be, a way I never thought I could be. You treat this lady nice now, you hear me? Listen to what she has to say.”

“Bring her on in then.”

“I can't, you'll understand why when you see her. She's waiting for you in the parking lot.”

“What, and ten more waiting in the shadows?”

“No, just her, you have my word. We need an end to this thing. Too many lives have been lost, too many graveside gatherings. Too many brothers, sisters, children. All gone to a cause that never was, that never should have been. It ends here, today.”

Jason rose and followed Raymond outside. In the centre of the parking lot stood the fattest woman Jason had ever seen. Jason was built like a quarterback, but she must have outweighed him by at least a hundred and fifty pounds. For a fleeting moment he wondered if she were a threat to him, but quickly dismissed the idea, the aura of serenity about her made the very idea seem ridiculous. She smiled at Jason, and the whole world seemed to light up.

“Okay, say your piece lady, but this still ain't over yet.” Said Jason, and he fired a flinty glance in Raymond's direction.

The lady opened her mouth, but instead of talking she began to sing. Her voice beautiful, angelic, echoed around the parking lot. The nearby buildings began to shimmy as they thrummed to the sweet vibrations.

As the dulcet tones reached Jason's ears and drizzled into his brain, something changed inside him. He felt his whole body relaxing, softening as the hate inside him shrivelled and died. His shoulders slumped and he tried in vain to wipe the tears from his eyes, but failed to keep up with the flow as a lifetime of venom, heartache and suffering poured down his cheeks.

Jason walked over to Raymond and they grasped each other tightly. There was real love in that embrace, a forgiveness for the past, a hope for the future, for all the futures to come.

“Yeah.” Whispered Jason. “I guess it's finally over.”


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.

Sweet redemption

“Come, come forward, follow the path, follow me, there is nothing to fear, come.”

The voice was soft, gentle, almost hypnotically so, the honeyed tones beckoning, promising.

The reply was tenuous, nervous. “What will I find on the path?”

“On the path you will find love, trust, compassion. The twists and turns will reveal many acts of kindness and selflessness. Amongst the wayside rocks you will discover humility, patience and peace of mind. Beneath the overhanging branches you will be able to lead the way of life that has been denied you.”

“But I have done some very bad things in my life, I won't be allowed to follow the path.”

“No-one is denied.” Came the gentle response. “It is never too late to change, to see the light.”

“People will not accept me because of my appearance, they will be repelled, and scorn me.”

“That will not be so, they will see beyond your outer self, they will look into your heart, seek the beauty inside.”

“Will I find any chocolate on the path?”

“What?”

“I said, will I find any chocolate on the path?”

“Err... yes... yes... I believe you may find some chocolate as you follow the righteous path.” Came the slightly dismayed voice.

“Lots of chocolate?”

“Well... err... it's difficult to say just how much chocolate a soul may come across on the road to redemption.” The honeyed tones of the voice began to harden slightly.

“Look, I'm not embarking on any path, road or trail, to redemption, righteousness, or anywhere else unless there is going to be plenty of chocolate on the way. So will there be lots of chocolate or not?”

“Yes, I believe there will possibly be lots of chocolate.” The voice took on an edge of impatience.

“You promise? That there will be chocolate, and lots of it?”

“Yes!” A tone of anger crept into the voice.

“Say it then, say you promise me that there will be lots and lots of chocolate. Enough to make me sick.”

“Very well then. I promise that on the path you will find lots and lots of chocolate, enough to make you sick. Enough to fill your belly thousands of times over. Enough to choke you, you greedy, self-centred, sweet-toothed, gluttonous git. Now get on that goddam PATH!!”

“Ah, what the hell.” Said the demon, and took the first step.


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.

Answers

“So, how's the interrogation going Jackson, anything we can use yet?”

“No Sir. Nothing! Zilch! Zippo! De na....”

“Okay, okay, I get the idea. No success yet then. What methods have you tried?”

“Well, firstly we put him through four days of sensory deprivation, to soften him up a little. He just sat cross-legged with his eyes closed the whole time, with an annoyingly serene smile on his face.”

“Did you try wiring him up?”

“Yeah. The electric shock seemed promising at first, he moaned and writhed a lot, it took us several hours to realize he actually found it sexually stimulating.”

“What about water boarding? That always does the trick.”

“Yeah well, we poured several gallons over his face, he just slurped it up through the towel as fast as we could pour, the end result being we had to mop up several gallons of piss too.”

“Rubber hose?”

“Done it. He's a bit thick skinned, it just bounced off.”

“Awkward standing positions?”

“Done 'em. He just looked bored the whole time.”

“Threats towards his family and friends?”

“He's an orphan, and if he has any friends we don't know of them.”

“The comfy chair routine?”

“Er, no Sir, I haven't heard of that one.”

“Jackson, that was a joke, you moron.”

“Oh, uh, right Sir.”

Time was running out, we needed those answers. I opened the door to his cell and walked inside. He was sitting on the chair, hands clasped in his lap, he looked rather calm for someone in his predicament.

“Okay Bozo, you are going to start talking, now I'll start off nice and easy, where is the safe house they took our man to?”

“It's on the north side of town, in the Crawford district, number thirty seven Bempton Close, the house with the blue door.”

I stared at him in disbelief, they had been working on him for seven days and hadn't got a shred of information out of him, and here he was singing like a canary just because I asked him.

“What security is there in the house?”

“Three men armed with Glocks, two downstairs, and one in the bedroom with the prisoner. The number for the alarm system is 4906, and there is a spare back door key under the plant pot beneath the window.”

I couldn't believe how easy this was. A thought suddenly struck me, I walked back out of the cell.

“Jackson?”

“Yes Sir?”

“While you've had this guy here, have you actually asked him any questions?”

Jackson started back at me, a blank expression on his face.

“Well... errr... errr...”


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.

Rose-tinted glasses

I used to view the world through rose-tinted glasses, enamoured with everything I saw, with everything it was and could be. I had hope for the future, contentment for the present, and forgiveness for the past.

Somewhere along the way the lenses turned to green. The subtle, slow change from one hue to another barely perceptible, until the transformation was complete, and the iron fist of envy had me in its clutches. I began to crave what other's possessed, to hate them for having what I did not, and the colour was everywhere I looked.

It was a smaller step down to the blue, but decidedly more noticeable. I no longer wished for what was not mine, instead I spiralled down into the deepest depression, the darkest of blues coloured my every thought. Happiness was elusive and slippery, impossible to grasp.

Just lately the glasses have taken on a more pinkish colour again, not the warm rose-tinted pink of days gone by, but a more sinister pink that is rapidly darkening towards red.

And I can feel the rage building inside me...


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.

Breaking even

“We're not gonna make it, are we?

His voice was weak, his breath ragged. He was giving up.

“Shut up and keep running.” I snapped back.

We had managed to stay ahead of the pack, but they were close behind, I could almost feel them breathing down my neck.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stumble slightly, he was going to go down. I reached out and grabbed his hand, pulled him roughly along, forcing him to keep up.

I squeezed his hand tightly, grinding his knuckles inside my own, hoping the pain would give him that extra ounce of fire in his belly, that one more molecule of determination.

I was not leaving him behind, if he failed, we would fail together.

This was it, I gave a final burst, dragging him along with me.

I punched our clasped hands forward, using them to break through the tape.

A few yards further we both collapsed to the ground.

Less than a second later the rest of the pack followed, some falling to the ground as we had, some running on a little further before coming to a standstill, hands on knees, gasping for air.

I reached out and grabbed him to me. We clutched each other tightly as tears rolled down our faces. Exhaustion, relief and euphoria all adding to the moment.

We had competed against each other all our lives, as twins do.

Last year I had taken Silver in the marathon, and he the Bronze. The year before, the positions had been reversed. This was our last year, we were both retiring from competitive sport, and it felt good to be going out breaking even.


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.

The vacuum of space

Authors note:
I have heard that over the years scientists have sent many radio messages into space, in the hope that someone may be listening. Eventually some of them formed the opinion that anyone, or anything, that had the ability to track these signals, and the capability to travel the vast distances involved to get here may not be coming with benign intentions, and that it may be wiser to cease broadcasting the messages... In case someone may be listening.
Are those radio waves still travelling?
And more importantly, have they been heard?

* * * * * * * * * *

THE VACUUM OF SPACE

The being had been travelling for many years now, following the tantalising scent, flowing with the undulating waves, feasting on the delicate flavours as it hurtled through space. The tastes and aromas strengthened as it neared the source, its hunger burned fiercely.

It slipped effortlessly into the atmosphere, and there it found a new taste to savour.

It began circling the tiny blue planet. Faster and faster it went, absorbing, devouring, feeding ravenously. Stripping the air and the surface of the planet of the delicious ingredient until there was barely a morsel left.

Its ethereal body, unhindered by liquid or solid, combed the oceans, then beneath the world's surface, seeking out every last drop of food, until there was none remaining.

Its hunger still burned.

Stretching out its senses it tested the surrounding star systems, searching, hunting.

A strange, new flavour came its way.

Once again it began following a distant scent, it left the blue planet behind as it hurtled once more through space, continuing its never ending quest for sustenance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In a concrete bunker far beneath the surface of the Mojave desert, a corporal stared at his computer screen, unable to understand the figures he was looking at.

“Major? You have to look at this, Sir.”

The officer walked over, and looked at the screen over the Corporal's shoulder.

“According to the readouts Sir, the radiation levels have disappeared, none of our sensors are picking up traces, not in the air, or on the land, even the oceans appear clear, I know this sounds crazy, and impossible, but it's as though the war never happened, somehow the planet's clean again,”

“There must be something wrong with the sensors Corporal, the surface of this planet will be uninhabitable for decades yet.”

“With respect Sir, it's extremely unlikely that thousands of sensors are all malfunctioning at the same time, I've run a systems check too, the hardware's working okay. It's as though something's sucked all the radiation from the planet.”

The same scenario was being repeated in many other bunkers in many other countries.

Before long, the survivors of the world war three apocalypse would tentatively emerge to a new beginning, to a new, clean world. Time would tell if they could keep it that way.


©2014 Stephen. J. Green.