Friday, April 29, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 40


Infected Vengeance

She burst through the door, the building alarm blaring in my ears. Her blue eyes were almost purple as they swam with blood. She turned to me with teeth readied for the kill. Her hair sprayed around her in crackles of black.

I cowered back in the alcove, hearing the silly girl in the other recess whimper as Kelis got closer. Overcome with rage, she didn’t seem to recognise me. But she had the disease that we’d been fighting. Her flesh had been tainted by that which is undead… but she did not have their mindless taste for human.

Intelligence still flickered, angry and vengeful, in her eyes and it was to this that I implored. “Please! I don’t want to die!”

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Life is a BBQ

This last bank holiday Monday (25th) I had my first barbecue that I was (supposedly) in charge of. Needless to say, my mother took over quite a lot of it, including inviting the guests she wanted.

Now, I had experience of cooking, but no experience of cooking on a barbecue. The same goes for R, with perhaps a little less of the normal experience cooking. My mother had decided that (as the bloke) he was supposed to be in charge of the barbecue while I flit around after guests.

So you can already see exactly whose barbecue this was.

(And by that I mean, not mine.)

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 39


Forever Unforgiven

Eyes lifted to his but saw through him.

“Why do you bother watching over him?” drawled a seductive voice from the other side of the cafĂ©.

There was no response as the observer continued his vigil. The kid on the other side of the table looked back down at his milkshake, stirring it slowly with his straw. He tilted his cap lower, his thoughts dribbling into the muted atmosphere.

“You could just give him to me,” she purred from across the room, all leather and lace and a tiger-like smile. She stalked closer, light glinting off the tight material of her thighs. “I promise I’ll take care of him.” Her fingers twisted in his golden curls, tickling the skin just below his ear.

He pressed his lips tightly together. This was a game to her. She wanted to toy with their lives.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Vlog Catch Up

So, I noticed a strange increase in the amount of people viewing my blog post where I’d vlogged instead. I have no idea why, but I hadn’t posted another for quite a while.

In fact, I think it’s been over a year. So I thought I’d post up another one. I hope it’s not too bad, but I know I look like a sun-scared vampire at a few points. Yes. I really am that pale.

Without further ado:

Just a catch up as I haven't posted a vlog in a while.

If you’d prefer to watch this on the youtube page then please do: here.

This is the flash fiction link mentioned and if you want to see any more of my videos then please feel free to check out my youtube channel.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 38


A Demon To Watch Over You

Watching him had become her life.

She’d spent centuries watching. Cold revenge is worse than a hot wrath. Heat burns up too quickly, but the cold stays in your bones. They’d given this one the same name as her villainous, deceitful lover.

He’d burned her until there was nought left but ash. Like her namesake, she’d risen from the flames, bent on destroying him. But destroying him wasn’t satisfying enough.

So she’d carried on.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

A WIP Adventure

A promise is a promise.

In a previous post [Aspiring Writers Pledge], I made the vow to regularly update readers on my WIP. Or at least as regularly as I could. Let’s face it, I’ll try as hard as I can but so much goes on in this crazy head of mine that I am likely to forget at some point.

But here goes…

So far, it’s going well. I’m up to 36, 035 words and counting (because I have the file open right now and plan to continue as soon as I finish this here post).

It’s still under the temporary name of Preying On Time, but that could all change and it probably will change should I ever get it published. I’m hoping so because I’m rather enjoying writing this particular story. Would you like to hear a little about it?


Well tough. I promised I’d tell you.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 37


The Wedding Death

She looked in the mirror. She didn’t want to do this.

Her reflection stared back with the strange glaze that she was used to. The image was surrounded by flares of hurt and anger, crushed in at the edges by sorrow. Did he think she was a tame beast?

She leaned closer to the glass, flexing her jaw, gaze fixed on her canines as they sharpened and then relaxed. He was a snivelling mortal. He’d pay for Christophe’s death.

The wedding dress clung tightly to her skin like a morgue bag. She would burn it when she was through with him, but she had to stay cold for now. If fire and hate turned her stomach she would lose everything to him. Loathing itched beneath her skin.

She would kill him for what he’d done.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

I Am What I Am

And no one can take that away from me. Some have tried, but that’s a longer tale than this blog post will hold and far deeper into my consciousness than any of you are probably willing to go.

Recently, I’ve noticed that I’ve been trying to curb myself on this blog from saying things I really want to say, all for the sake of public image. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing in regards to certain subjects, but it does make the original point of this journal redundant to say the least.

I’ve been trying to do that thing that so many writing blogs tell you to do: lose some of the intimacy and therefore gain a wider access to readers. So, I’ve tried.

Friday, April 08, 2011

The #Brainhamster

If you follow me on that thing that is twitter or you regularly read the twitter updates that loop on the twitter widget I have on the blog, you may have noticed a rather alarming amount of my posts about…

The #Brainhamster!


So what is the #brainhamster?

Is he a crazy little rodent I have bought and allowed to live uselessly in a cage in my room, thereby giving me no investment and no point in having his furry fat self?

And why am I blogging about it?

Is it because I’ve finally lost the plot and have decided to just go all out and terrify you with the insanity that gaily skips through my mind everyday?

Well, the answers to these questions are here…

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 36


Half Light

Petals drifted slowly downwards as spirals of pale tears in the soft blue light. They carpeted the floor, catching like raindrops in her loose hair. She expired, breath brushing the petals gathered by her face.

She felt dizzy as if she’d been twirling around and around before falling from a great height. Memory served no purpose.

Eyelashes embraced with a careless blink. She watched more pink slivers flutter to the silvery ground from the cherry tree shading her fragile body. The tree felt familiar in some way, but she couldn’t understand why. It was like grasping at something that only appeared in the half light.

Her hand moved to her chest, settling above the place where her heart lay. There was something missing that she couldn’t place.

It was lost.

Monday, April 04, 2011

Whiling Away The Hours

Regular readers will notice that, once again, I’ve been fiddling with the layout of the blog widgets and have changed the title image. I’m hoping that you’ll all see this as an improvement. It’s certainly intended to be one.

I spent much of yesterday trying to get it right. Lots of things have gone or been replaced or even condensed somewhat. The shelfari widget is gone. I got tired of its bulk taking up one side of the blog when it offered very little of what I wanted. However, there is a link to it on my contact page.

You may have noticed that the list of pages has also moved. It’s now a lovely little bar of pages across the top. There is also a big new picture up there. It’s a snatch of the background I use for my twitter page, but I think it goes rather well with the current colour scheme.

Saturday, April 02, 2011

Flash Fiction No. 35


Run Rabbit Run

Panting breaths scraped between the sounds of shrubs smashing underfoot. Hurried feet pounded the damp earth, attempting to avoid gnarled tree roots and amputated boughs. Eyes flashed wild and white in the splintered moonlight.

Faster. Must go faster.

Lungs burned without release. The echo of voices haunted her on the breeze. Twigs and thorns scratched at her hands. Undergrowth crackled not far behind her, lifting her heart into her throat. She spun to see what it was, her ankle twisting with a painful cry.

Air ripped from her lungs as her back ploughed into the hard soil. Blood rushed into her face sprinkling her vision with prickles of coloured light. She heaved in a couple of breaths until she could push herself on again, crashing through trees and bushes.

It was too much to think about and too much to deal with all in one go. How could they tell her that after so many years?