Been a tit

Just want to apologise to anyone I pissed off or upset a few months ago. I was in a bad place myself and I vented my spleen, making half-baked statements without being in full posession of the facts.

I might have changed names, but that was a bit pathetic, really. Hopefully, the time I spent away in November/December has chilled me out enough to stop me being a selfish, inconsiderate prick again.

Sorry

Moving Rooms

My dear, dear Friend Mike, who I've known for many years, and would quite readily allow to use the toilet before me (Mostly true) has moved sites.

Normally, I wouldn't kick up a fuss about such a thing, but as Mike is, quite frankly, the only person who I would trust to, and is the only person who has, published and edited my work, I feel I owe him a duty to point you in his direction.

Oh crap, this means some more html editing. Joy.

http://www.darkenedroom.net/journal/

Go there. Now.

Spoiling it for everyone

I suppose it's normally a curse of notoriety, but somehow my tiny little blog has been noticed by the sad no-penised fuckwits that can't even breathe without trying to sell you phentramine or phenylannine or some such shit.

Cos of this I'm gonna have to start moderating comments. If you've posted on Mike's you'll know what it means, but I won't be activating the gestapo-style hard-to-read letter entry field.

('J's' always look like 'i's', it's annoying)

No, really, I've got a good reason this time

Really, we had a november holiday (nice little cruise) and since we got back we've been decorating (Wallpaper and xmas - first one, then t'other). Once the joyous restivities are over, I'm sure I'll start writing some heavy shit again.

Promise

Pinochet's Dead

I hope the fucker rots

thanks for listening

Cliched nautical heading here..

...Couldn't bring myself to write anything that included the word 'sailing'...

Aneyhoo, off on a cruise for a week and a half, so I'll be net-inaccessible until the 7th (unless I find a cyber-cafe in Casablanca), but it also means I'll be without access to a word processor of any kind, so it'll be back to pen & paper.

Weird, but as I've got faster at typing, i've found the flow of ideas as each story develops seems to be running at the same wpm. Wether or not having to actually write stuff down improves my story-telling, will remain to be seen.

Knowing my luck, i'll just end up with 5 crap stories and writer's cramp.

Heart-Shaped Face

Thanks to Jammie for the words that got this one started

Heart-shaped face, Lift, Skeleton key, Parcel

“Look, I’ll be back in the evening, ok?” Luke held his wife reassuringly by the shoulders, then drew her into a comforting hug. “Look at it this way, you’ll have plenty of time to get familiar with the place; assign rooms, that kinda thing”.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just so… I dunno.. Big” Luke rolled his eyes.

“And you’re the one who always wanted a bigger kitchen” Rachel gave him a look.

“The kitchen in this place could cater for a fucking hotel, Luke” He smiled and hugged her again, kissed her heavily and set off down the path to his shiny new car.

“At least you can’t say the freezer isn’t big enough anymore”. He opened the door and threw his briefcase into the passenger seat.

“That ’Freezer’ is bigger than our old bedroom”. The engine burst into life with a throaty rumble as her husband smiled and waved genially as he crunched the gears into place and kangaroo-hopped out of the driveway.

‘At least he didn’t pay for the bloody thing’ Rachel mused as the sun glinted off the silver prancing horse on the back of the car as it turned the corner and out of sight. She could still hear it as she glanced over at her much more sensible Beetle in the driveway. Maybe the full package, including in-car DVD player and personalised number plates was a bit much, but at least she wasn’t paying.

She closed the heavy oak door and turned to the hallway. She couldn’t stop the grin possessing her face and the exultant scream that followed. In 3 short weeks, her husband had been head-hunted and promoted beyond their wildest dreams, and shortly relocated this this Fucking HUGE house in the middle of the Oxfordshire countryside.

The estate agent had shown them round, but the sheer size of the place was all they needed to say yes. The eager young agent had stammered over his pre-prepared speech, but she’d bought the place with the company’s money the second the limo crunched over gravel through the automatic gates. All she’d been used to before this was a council flat in a shitty area, part of the many sacrifices they’d made (she more than he) to fund Luke’s ambitions. Her patience had been running thin, but it was working. His slow steps up the executive ladder was giving them a comfortable life, they’d even started going out again.

She picked up the elaborately designed folder containing all the information on the house from the table by the door, along with her coffee and strolled into her spacious kitchen. It really could have catered for a hotel, well, a small one anyway, but it was still bigger than your nearest Starbucks, deep blue-tiled walls, stainless steel tables and a walk-in freezer that was indeed larger than her old bedroom. It was absolutely barren at the moment, but the company had told them that they had a blank cheque to furbish the house, so she should have it up and running in about.. Ooh, a month. She set the folder down on the bare central food preparation table and started to read.

“So, how’s the house?” Rick was smiling that smile again. All teeth, no content. Luke returned it.

“Oh, it’s fantastic, Rachel absolutely loves it” He shook Rick’s proffered hand, feeling the intentionally domineering grip and totally bone dry palm as it gently crunched his knuckles.

“Good-good, good to hear it” Luke hated that expression. He’d only heard it from people with nothing on their minds but their own self-promotion. He’d used it himself once and hated himself for doing so. “Your office is just along here, it’s got everything you’ll need to fulfil your position, and if you need anything, Hillary here will be at your beck and call“. A middle-aged, stern looking woman with her blonde hair in a tight bun looked up at him, acknowledged his existence without smiling and returned to her monitor.

Rick walked him into the office, it took Luke a second before he realised what he was looking at.

“We’ve completely duplicated your old office, it helps our new guys start work faster if they know where everything is”. He wasn’t kidding either, everything, from the positioning of the waste-paper basket (just the right distance for a well-aimed apple core or bullshit memo) to the framed inspirational posters that he never actually liked anyway. Ok, I’ll give you about an hour to get settled, then I’ll come back to see how you’re doing, ok dude?” He gave a hearty thumbs-up, which Luke returned, his insides cringing. Left alone, Luke looked around his familiar relocated office space. He hated the last job, so bringing everything that reminded him of it didn’t fill him with a sense of optimism.

“Ok mum, love you. Bye!” She’d had to call and tell her mother as much as she could about the house. She’d invited her over for dinner next week, should be enough time to get the kitchen up and running at least. Rachel pocketed her mobile and flicked through the folder as she travelled through the house

‘The master bedroom, approximately 400 square feet of floor space, with high walls and faux-baroque stylings throughout’. . Every room was carpeted & curtained, but lacked furniture. Smiling, she closed the door behind her and headed down the hallway towards the master bathroom. Passing a door on her left, she tried the handle, it was locked. Weird, she thought. Flicking through the folder, she found the floor plans. The door wasn’t on it, it just showed the last room she’d been in and the master bathroom directly beside it. ‘Must be a cupboard’, although she couldn’t help but think it was a little strange that the plans for a 100-year old house would miss something like a cupboard. Walking into the bathroom she looked into the corner of the room where the door was, and sure enough, there were 2 extra walls in the corner, indicating the cupboard space behind. The bathroom itself was fully fitted, with a legged bath in the middle of the tiled floor. It was huge, more than enough room for 2 people. She’d have to get some candles, she thought with a smirk. Still the fact the cupboard was locked irked her a little, and she pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket, searching through the contact lists for the estate agent’s number.

“Hi, it’s Rachel Anderson here, yes hello. Look, I’ve just had a look around the house and I’ve found a door that seems to be locked… no, it’s lovely, it’s wonderful, really. Yes, it seems to be a cupboard on the second floor… Where? Ok, hang on.” She trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Which drawer? By the sink…” She opened the drawer and found a small silver key. “Yes, I’ve got it, thanks Harry.” She pressed a few keys on her phone and placed it on the table. She looked at the key, it looked new, and had a small engraving of a skull on one side. Creepy, but apt for a skeleton key, she supposed.

She returned to the upper floor and headed to the door. The key slid neatly into the lock and turned. When she opened the door, it wasn’t a cupboard behind it, but brightly lit, ornate panelling on the walls. She stepped inside and turned. Beside the door were 2 buttons, the top one was lit.

“It’s a lift!” She racked her brains to try and remember if the space taken up by a lift shaft had taken up any floor space below, as it had done in the bathroom. Nope, she couldn’t remember, and was just about to walk out of the lift when the outer door closed abruptly. As she jumped back in shock another internal door slid into place and the lift shuddered. The other button lit with a ‘ding’ and the lift slowly started to descend. In the kitchen, her mobile started to vibrate wildly as it blasted out a polyphonic version of ‘Money, Money, Money’ by Abba..

“Luke! How are you settling in?” Rick entered the room, closely followed by another inanely-grinning suited colleague. “This is Chad, hope you don’t mind his sitting in on our little chinwag” Luke hung up the phone, he’d have to hope Rachel got his message soon.

“No, not at all” He beckoned them to sit down, even though Chad already had.

“So, Luke, let’s get down to it. We wanted you because you, individually, made your company over three million pounds last yeas”. Luke squirmed slightly.

“Yes, well, a lot of it was luck, you know. I just happened to be invited to the Sapperstein’s daughter’s wedding through a colleague and…” Rick held up a hand.

“Luke, Luke. There were several people at that wedding, but not one of them could network like you. You saw the opportunity, and you grabbed it with both hands. You’re the kind of guy we want here. I won’t lie, we’re expecting the same kind of numbers, if not more, for us. Can you deliver that, Luke?” His face was pseudo-friendly, but his tone had an element Luke didn’t like.

“Well, I can’t make any promises, like I said, those contracts were sort of a fluke, but I’ll do my best while I’m here”. Rick sat up straight, then sat back in his chair. Chad stopped looking at the picture of the Cheetah over the word ‘Ambition’ and begun to pay attention to the conversation.

“ ‘While you’re here?’ what do you mean by that, Luke?” The room had got suddenly colder.

“Well, what I meant was, I.. I’ll probably move on, eventually. It's not that I’m not grateful for all you’ve done for Rachel and me, on the contrary, the house is fantastic”. He missed the smile that flashed across Chad’s face. “But what with the generous wage you’re paying me, plus the incredible commission rates you pay, I could probably retire within the next ten years!” He smiled broadly at them, but their faces remained impassive. “I mean, you guys must be thinking along the same lines, right?”

Chad sat up.

“Did you read the contract you signed with us, Luke?” An empty pit opened in his stomach

“I.. flicked though it, I thought they were all the same?”

“Did you read the section on the non-disclosure agreement?” Chad reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a tube of rolled-up paper.

“I read some of it. I signed one at my last place, they’re pretty much the same.” Chad placed the tube on the desk, where it unfurled. Luke could see his signature at the bottom.

“Take another read. Under the non-disclosure section”. Luke took the contract and started to read.

“Yeah, it looks standard. It says as long as I’m employed by the company, I’m not allowed to divulge any internal information with outside companies”.

“No, it doesn’t”

“What? Yes it does”

“Read it to me” sweating slightly, he scanned the page again.

“‘As long as the contracted employee is within the employ of the company, neither he nor any spouse or children shall divulge any information pertaining to the company, sensitive or otherwise, to anyone outside the company, for any reason.’” He looked up. “And?” Rick sighed theatrically.

“Let’s go for a drive”.

Puzzled, Luke stood up and walked around his desk and out into the hallway. His heart pumping and his mind racing. As he walked, he could see into the other offices along the corridor, every person he saw looked thoroughly miserable, working without smiling, and every desk had a large, flat red box beside the in-trays. He swore he even heard a sob coming from one office.
“We’ll take the company limo. Give us a chance to explain things… in simple terms”. They entered the parking garage, the Limo gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. Looking to his left, he could see his Ferrari in his private parking space. Should he make a run for it? Where would he go but home? He sunk slightly and ducked his head as he sat in the plush leather seats. The other two sat down as well, facing him.

“Well, Luke. It looks like there’s several things about this company you should be made aware of. We brought you in for your sales prowess, but do you know what the company actually does?”

Luke thought hard. “It’s medical research and private healthcare”. Chad grinned.

“And you never thought that was a strange combination? Sounds innocent enough, I know, but think about it…”

The Limo crunched over the gravel in the drive and stopped outside the front door. The driver opened his door and Luke exited slowly. He was pale, having vomited twice. They’d told him far more than he’d wanted to know, and he had no idea what awaited him as he opened his heavy oak door.

He stood in the door frame.

“Rachel?” He looked down to a large flat, red parcel on the table beside the door. Looking up to the sound of shuffling feet, he saw his wife walking out of the kitchen, her long red hair covering her face. “Rachel?” His wife raised her head, there was no face, just a flat covering of skin on the front of her head. There was a piece of equipment attached to her neck which made hoarse breathing sounds. Paralyzed by horror, he came to his senses when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s fine, don’t worry. Unfortunately, she broke the terms of your contract not long after you left the house this morning. Had a revealing conversation with her mother, told her where the house was, how much money you’re earning. Even invited her Mother over for dinner. We can’t have that, not when national security’s at stake”. Luke felt like vomiting again.

“But her face… why?” Chad patted him on his other shoulder.

“One thing we’ve learned in our 50-year history, is that once a woman starts talking, it’s a hard habit to break.”

“But she’s never read my contract, how the fuck was she supposed to know what not to do?”

“And whos fault is that?” He smiled that fucking smile again. Look, she’s fine. She can still see, kind of. She’ll need protein injections once a day, which the company will provide free of charge, but she’ll be a willing housewife, cooking, cleaning… servicing… everything a good wife should be”.

“But her face….” tears were streaming down his face.

“Oh, yeah. Here you go…” He casually tossed the red parcel to him. Gingerly he opened it. There, attached to small pieces of machinery and several blood-filled tubes, was his wife’s heart-shaped face. Her eyes darting from side to side in horror until they fell on her husband’s face. Her mouth moved quickly and silently as Luke sank to his knees. Chad crouched down beside him and looked at the terrified face in the box with a sickeningly kind smile.

“Funny, they all try to talk, you know.” He stood up. Rachel was now standing beside her husband, showing no sign she knew he was there. “Well, we’ll be off, we’ll have your car brought over. Wouldn’t have gone with yellow myself, but there you go, each to their own.” They both started to leave, Rick stopped and turned to him.

“Have a 4-day weekend, Luke, I think you’ll need some time to get adjusted. But hey, look on the bright side, now you can bring your wife to work. Everyone else does.”

Non-Specific plaugeurism

Yes, i know that's spelt wrong. Anyhoo, took this from Mike's, who in turn nicked it from Chris'

DO YOU SNORE? Apparently, yes. I have been known to wake myself up

ARE YOU A LOVER OR A FIGHTER?A lover, never been in a fight

WHAT’S YOUR WORST FEAR? Losing my loves

AS A KID, WERE YOU A LEGO MANIAC? Absolutely. I was a whiz, I once made a spaceship that was actually 20 ships all joined together. It rocked. Only you couldn't pick it up or it would fall apart.

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF “REALITY” TV? Pointless voyeurism that foists useless morons on the world, who in turn are lapped up by their ilk

DO YOU CHEW ON YOUR STRAWS? Can't says I do

WERE YOU A CUTE BABY? If my son is anything to go by, then I was GORGEOUS

IS THE SINGLE LIFE FOR YOU? Was, till I met the person who ended all that nonsense

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR KEYBOARD?Black.

DO YOU SING IN THE SHOWER? I don't sing. Court order.

HAVE YOU EVER BUNGEE JUMPED? Seen wayyyy too many wacky home videos to even contemplate the idea

ANY SECRET TALENTS? Now, if I told you, they wouldn't be secret...

WHAT’S YOUR IDEAL VACATION SPOT? Anywhere but here

CAN YOU SWIM? In bursts

HAVE YOU SEEN THE MOVIE DONNIE DARKO? Yup, and it was the lager that made me cry at the fat chick dancing

DO YOU GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE OZONE? I've been told I have to

HOW MANY LICKS DOES IT TAKE TO GET TO THE CENTER OF A TOOTSIE POP? Wouldn't know, first time I tasted one I nearly threw up

CAN YOU SING THE ALPHABET BACKWARDS? Nope, but I can say it backwards in less than 3 seconds

DO YOU PREFER ELECTRIC OR MANUAL PENCIL SHARPENER? Pencils?

WHAT’S YOUR STAND ON HUNTING? I'd like to stand on the necks of anyone who kills ANYTHING for 'sport', not necessity

IS MARRIAGE IN YOUR FUTURE? In the past, actually

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Certainly do, I seem to be only one who can read it...

WHAT ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO? Radion Automatic

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAID, “I LOVE YOU” ? Just now, actually

DO YOU CRY AT WEDDINGS? Nope. Not even my own.

HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS? Unfertilised, thanks.... Har-de-har. But as you're asking. In an omlette with cheese & Frankfurters

ARE BLONDES DUMB? Depends on the blonde. I've met some pretty thick brunettes in my time

WHERE DOES THE OTHER SOCK END UP? Eaten by the laundromat monster

WHAT TIME IS IT? 20:50

DO YOU HAVE A NICKNAME? Yup, and sadly enough, it's self-imposed.

IS MCDONALD’S DISGUSTING? In every way

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WERE IN A CAR? 17:15

DO YOU PREFER BATHS OR SHOWERS? Baths.

IS SANTA CLAUS REAL? As real as you want him to be

DO YOU LIKE TO HAVE YOUR NECK KISSED? ummmm... no

ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK? Used to be. mainly because of a terrorizing older brother

WHAT ARE YOU ADDICTED TO? Peanut Butter Kit-Kat Chunkies

CRUNCHY OR CREAMY PEANUT BUTTER? Crunchy.

CAN YOU CRACK YOUR NECK? Sometimes, but I have to crack my thumbs when I get up in the morning. And the tip of my right middle finger. And my right ankle cracks incredibly loudly whenever I take my foot off the gas

HAVE YOU EVER RIDDEN IN AN AMBULANCE? No. actually

IS DRUG FREE THE WAY TO BE? I've inhaled in the past. can't say it changed my life in any way.

ARE YOU A HEAVY SLEEPER? Used to be. i once slept through a patio window being put into the wall directly below my bedroom

WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES? Green with brown bits

DO YOU LIKE YOUR LIFE? Some more cash would be nice, but I'm good.

ARE YOU PSYCHIC? Not specifically, but I've had moments

HAVE YOU READ CATCHER IN THE RYE? Nope

DO YOU PLAY ANY INSTRUMENTS? Steering Wheel Bongoes

HAVE YOU EVER STOLEN MONEY? 10p, when I was 8

CAN YOU SNOWBOARD? No idea, the opportunity hasn't arisen

DO YOU LIKE CAMPING? I love being outdoors, but as long as I'm warm and dry. Haven't actually camped yet, but i have a young son and I live in the country, so It's probably on the cards at some stage

DO YOU SNORT WHEN YOU LAUGH? Depends on what caused the laugh.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC? Real magic? No. Haven't seen a trick I didn't figure out yet

ARE DOGS A MAN’S BEST FRIEND? Depends on the dog

YOU BELIEVE IN DIVORCE? When necessary.

CAN YOU DO THE MOONWALK? Only without an audience

DO YOU MAKE A LOT OF MISTAKES? Not if I take my time

IS IT COLD OUTSIDE TODAY? Fokking freezing, and it's no fun standing on the footplate beside my crane at the top of medway hill in 40mph winds, lemme tell ya

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Bourbons dunked in tea

DO YOU WEAR NAIL POLISH? Never have

HOW MANY PEOPLE DO YOU LIKE RIGHT NOW? These posts have a word limit right now. It would probably be easier to say who i don't like, but i'm not gonna

WHAT’S THE MOST ANNOYING TV COMMERCIAL? Was the Frosties one, but the internet rumour mill gave that one too much notoriety

DO YOU SHOP AT T K MAXX? Oh god no

FAVORITE SONG AT THE MOMENT? Hoppipolla by Sigur Ros. Old, yes, but still my current fave

In desperate need of inspiration

You'll notice I haven't updated in a while. There's a few reasons for this, all tedious and boring to everyone that isn't me.

I've got a full head at the moment. as I was discussing with Jammie earlier, I'm not currently getting any down time with which I can let my mind wander, which is what happened with 'Bleeding'. (The actual blood-letting from the finger helped , but Mike & Jenn's inspiration to write Green Fingers got some kind of juices flowing)

So, here's the thing. In no way am I trying to start The Curve ball off my own back, but I'd like some sparks thrown my way. In the form of 4 nouns.

Just 4. Any 4 in any order, and I'll try to get a half-decent. 500-ish-word story out of it.

But, please. Make them kinda interesting. "Apple, paperclip, biscuit, Library" isn't going to make good reading.

On Hiatus

Not updated in a while, I know. Truth is, creative juices are pretty much non-existant right now. Too bloody tired for one thing. Oh, and I've lost my voice, so that probably explains some of it

Jeez, I REALLY suck.

Just haven't had the energy or impetus to put finger to plastic. However, my lovely baby sister got married this week.

A smaller affair than my overly-grandeuse and bloody expensive wedding. I'd have to say I had more fun at deborah's wedding than my own. Not to say mine wasn't a blast, it was just that Annie & I spent so much time making sure everyone was ok, we didn't have time for ourselves. we hardly touched the buffet, I had about 3 pints total, and to cap it all one of the hotel's staff got stabbed by one of the hoodlums that weekly congregate outside the hotel.

Deborah's wedding was much more relaxed and enjoyable, from our point of view. Lukey was with his grandparents for the evening, so we had the whole night worry-free.

I danced. A lot. I don't/can't dance, but I did, and with a small child on my shoulders to boot.

(That's me on the left)

Leigh's a cracking bloke, and I know they'll be happy together.

(Cake was nice too)

I suck

Just looked at the date and it's been over a week since my last post. So to make amends... here's another one. Not necessarily a spectacular one, but a post nonetheless.

Actually had a bit of a bitch of a week, temperatures have been sailing aroun the 30's all week. Not much if you're native to equatorial climes, i know, but we're Brits, dammit, and we're not used to this kinda heat.

Naturally, the country's completely screwed. The trains have had to slow down in case the tracks have buckled (Funny, Australian trains dont have this problem) and the water companies are billing the shit out of anyone who has more than a pint of water a day.

Speaking of the fucking water companies, bless 'em. Thursday was a water-free day. came home from work and had a nice soak in the bath after a hot and sweaty day lifting heavy crap around. Unbeknownst to us, the water main down the road had burst, and the soothing radox wonderment in which I was wallowing represented 90% of the non-drinkable water supply.

So, the water runs out. No drinking water, nothing to wash up with. can't turn the washing machine or dishwasher on. So there we were. Sitting in an incredibly warm house surrounded by dirty dishes and clothes. Aromatically speaking, it wasn't the best.

Next morning everything was back to normal, apart from the flouride they put in the water making it look like each glass contained 8 soluble asprin.

And then this weekend I decided to put the fence up. A fence I'm building from scratch, mind. I've got everything I need, but the aforementioned drought means digging into the soil to make the post holes was impossible. "I know", thinks I, "I'll hire out a post hole borer from one of the many fine hiring-type establishments in this fine town". Nope. 4 hire stations and not one of the fuckers has got a borer to suit my needs.

So I've made a gate. Looks good. Just can't put it anywhere.

Thus summarises the events of my life since the last post.

Oh, I sliced the tip of my spacebar thumb open, so I hope you appreciate the agony it's caused to to write this.

Ah'm baaack

so said Randy Quaid. Well at least he wasn't flying that fucking bi-plane.

Back from my Hols, to Gran canaria. I'd love to give a detailed report, but I had to take my keyboard apart before I left and now several keys are sticking. I'll take a chainsaw to it later to give a detailed account.

Surprise, surprise

We're out of the world cup, and the part-time patriots are collectively throwing their toys out of their prams.

Pisses me off that everyone becomes so full of patriotic pride that they feel compelled to adorn their homes and vehicles with the St George's cross. But as soon as the 11 blokes running after the ball have blown it, the Queen can go fuck herself.

If you're gonna fly the flag, do it like the Americans do; because you're proud of your country. Not because some overpaid pretty-boys are having a kickabout

Things move quickly in showbiz...

Well, it's been a bit of a bonkers couple of weeks. The responses I've received for both Green Fingers and Bleeding have been very heartwarming and encouraging. From a personal POV I'd have to say I felt writing Bleeding more satisfying, not to say GF wasn't a blast, but I just liked the main character more.

I'm not getting struck by any huge bouts of inspiration at the moment, mainly because I'm busy adapting Bleeding into a screenplay. Padding 1400-something words out to a 45-minute run time is.. tricky. Looks like it's flashback-time...

I'll keep you posted

Green Fingers - Digitally re-mastered

I want to thank Mike for the opportunity, and to Jenn for the inspiration. It's been a while since words flowed this easily, and that's pretty much why I started this blog - to start writing again. I wrote this one before 'Bleeding', but didn't want to post it until Mike had posted the 500-word version.

Anyway, I've just done a small re-edit (again). Hope you like this one as much as I got a buzz out of completing a story again


GREEN FINGERS - DIRECTOR’S CUT

The car pulled up outside, its tyres crunching the gravel as it came to a stop. She just had to pull in after seeing that sign. She needed some new flowers for the entrance hall anyway, so the sign had certainly done its job and piqued her interest. As she approached the entrance doors they opened automatically. The immediate aroma of a thousand blossoming flowers hit her full in the face, inviting her in further. A handsome man wearing a leather apron appeared from a side door.

“Can I help you Madam?”

“Um.. Hi. I’m just looking for a new arrangement for the entrance hall of Grovesenor House..” He smiled, showing a little of his perfect teeth.

“Yes, I know the place, I stayed there a while back during a florist’s conference, in the Mersham suite” his slightly upper class accent was quite captivating, she brushed her hair over her ear with her left hand, she could see him looking at the absence of a ring on her fingers. ‘Oh god, I must be coming across as a terrible flirt’ she thought to herself. She’d read enough magazine articles about body language to realise she was giving off enough signals to fill a 4-page spread. She forced her hands together behind her back as they discussed various bouquets and posies. After a short while she remembered the reason she‘d been attracted to this place.

“Actually, I couldn’t help but notice the sign outside, something about a ‘Corpse Flower’? His smile faltered slightly, but returned swiftly.

“Ah, the Titan Arum” He nodded sagely. “Yes, I’ve been lucky enough to have had the privilege of cultivating one and it’s successfully beginning to bloom. We’re all very proud. Would you like to see it?

Nodding slightly, she followed him through the door he had appeared through earlier. She entered a large room filled with brushed metal tables. The ceiling contained wired glass panels, letting the natural light in, however many warm lights hung from the rafters. A short and stocky figure was busying himself in the shadows, removing small potted plants from a large table and placing them in a small shelved alcove. A small sniff alerted her back to the florist, who was beckoning her to one side. He led her to a large wooden planter, long but narrow, but contained only one large, and very pungent flower. She placed her hand to her face, covering her nose.
“Oh, God. That really stinks!” She smiled while grimacing, but noticed he didn’t cover his own nose.

“It’s a small price to pay for something so beautiful”, He picked up some secateurs and moved to the other side of the crate. “This is one of the rarest flowers on the planet, they date back to prehistoric times, you know. Normally they can take up to 20 years of cultivation before they flower, and when they do, they only bloom for 3 or 4 days”. He was gazing at the flower with an almost fatherly affection, carefully clipping and preening the plant. She scoffed slightly.

“Seems like a lot of effort for something like that” He looked up sharply

“Like what?” He looked quite stern. She faltered, even daring to take her hand from her face.

“Well… I mean.. 20 years of cultivation, to make something that doesn’t really do anything except stink like.. Well… death”. He straightened up and placed his sharp gardening shears on the moist soil beside the plant and removed his gloves.

“It makes that smell to attract carrion flies, and blow flies, who pollinate the plant. It’s quite ingenious, actually” His voice carried a note of bitterness. She was starting to feel a little embarrassed. This guy really cared for his plants. He seemed to notice her unease, and brightened up slightly. “Actually, we’ve developed a new cultivation method, and we’ve managed to reproduce several shoots, which are coming along nicely”. He walked over to another set of doors, made of flexible plastic. There was an identical set of doors just beyond. In the room she could see several more large crates, each filled with the same moist soil, each containing a small, young version of the plant that had assailed her senses earlier. The man she saw in the shadows earlier was in the room, wearing what looked like a bee-keepers suit, flies buzzing around his head. “Blowflies. Wonderful for the flowers but hell if they bite you - which they will…”

“Um.. Look.. Sorry if I offended you earlier, it’s just I’m obviously a bit 'green' when it come to flowers”. The charming smile was back

“Not to worry, I suppose I do dedicate quite a lot of my own time to these plants, we’re hoping it’ll save this place. We’re only just keeping our heads above water, but these plants will go for at least a thousand each. we’re always looking for an extra body around the place to help out, as it were”. She looked at him, was he offering her a job? Job? Oh crap! Work! She was about 20 minutes late on her lunch break, she looked at her watch. 25 minutes late.

“Oh damn. I‘m late back to work. Thanks for your time, but I think I should get some flowers and head off”. As she turned back to the doors that entered back into the main display area, she felt a sharp pain in the side of her neck. She moved to turn around but crumpled in a heap on the floor.
~
Her eyes opened. She couldn’t feel anything, no sensation of any part of her body, She tried to call out but neither her lungs, mouth nor vocal cords complied. The lights strung from beams across the ceiling shone brightly upon her, but she felt no heat. She was lying down, she could move her eyes, but not her head, she frantically looked around, but couldn’t see anything within her field of vision except the lights and glass panels in the roof.

A drop of red liquid fell onto her eye, turning the lights orange, she blinked it away. A conversational voice broke the silence.

“Hmm. looks like we need some more phycotoxin, Greg. This one’s conscious. I’ll have to find a better way of cultivating the algae later… Hand me that trowel, will you?”

What the hell was going on? Although her entire body was numb, she had the sensation that her head was moving slightly from side to side. The movement increased and her head fell to one side. Slowly she realised she was looking at a glazed cabinet, but with the brightly lit room it acted as a mirror. She could see the florist, wearing a bee-keepers suit. She looked at herself. Her clothes had been removed, but she had hessian sheets draped over her body, only her midriff exposed. The florist put down his shears and picked up a small shoot, similar to the ones she had seen earlier, god knows how long ago that was. She strained her eyes to see what he was doing when she focused on the shears. They were covered in blood. Her blood. She started to breathe heavier as he placed a gloved hand on her abdomen. Before she could comprehend what he was doing, he removed the section of skin and flesh he had cut, exposing the intestines below. She screamed without making a sound. Her eyes wide with horror as he calmly inserted the plant into her body.

Without saying a word, he calmly started throwing soil around her, until it was quite thick. He picked up his shears and swiftly sliced open her lower arms, the blood pumping freely into the soil, which quickly soaked it up.

The florist grabbed her head in both hands and moved it gently to look at her, as tears flowed from her eyes like streams.

“We’re all very proud of you, thanks for your help, we really appreciate it.”

Her head fell back down to the cabinet and she saw the many crates around her, all with shoots sprouting from them.

“we’ve developed a new cultivation method”

He lifted the sides of the crate around her, nailing the pieces into place. Smiling that charming smile, he emptied more soil over her body. Just before he completely covered her head, the last thing her fading consciousness heard was the sound of tyres on gravel outside.

“Greg, another customer…!”

Bleeding - Short Story

Hope you like it


He sat in the chair, the wrist of the hand holding the gun draped over his blood-stained leg. All he could hear was sobbing and small squeals, hurriedly stifled. He supposed the sobs were either from fear of death or fear of his appearance. He stood up, leaving the soaked stool behind. He wiped the blood from his watch and squinted at the time. Fifteen minutes and nothing.

Holy fuck, they were quicker than this in the movies.

He stepped back towards the cashiers desks, the people huddled together on the floor shuffled away from his feet. He looked at the stuffed cash bags on the counter. He could take them. There were no cops yet. Nah shit, they’d catch him in a second. He kinda stood out in a crowd. He picked up a bag anyway and returned to the chair, the cushion squelched as he collapsed into it.

‘This had better fucking work’.

An hour ago he’d been sat in an alleyway, the same gun pressed against his forehead, the tension in his finger reflected in the strain in his eyes as he tried and tried again to completely fail to kill himself. He was succeeding at failing quite spectacularly. He’d tried slashing his wrists. Laid in the bath naked, sliced open his forearms and waited to die. He’d had to let the plug out before he fucked up the carpet in the bathroom. Luckily the university laid on a shrink for him to cry to. Didn’t help.

He was just fucking sick of it. Johnsonium nimium cruor they called it. If he could leave one mark on the planet it would be the name of a fucking blood disorder. It literally means ‘too much blood’. He’d been fine up until puberty, then the shit started. Nosebleeds once a week, then anal leakage. Then the ears started to bleed, eye sockets. If it was a doorway to the outside world, blood leaked from it. He offered to donate, be an everlasting supply, but the disease was in the blood.

Ed Norton once said you could drink a pint of blood before you started to get sick. Try 36 a day fuckwad. What the fuck did Chuck Palahnuik know about ingesting haemoglobin? The flipside was he was never hungry, the downside was he never knew when he was pissing or just bleeding again.

35 years old wearing a fucking diaper. They tried him with every kind of drug at the medical university with varying degrees of success. One drug levelled out the level of blood in his body, but only by thinning it out and accelerating the leaking. That was a fun day.

They’d found another drug. It was a hybrid of an experimental drug they were giving haemophiliacs. Stopped the blood a treat. But no drinking. No physical exertion. Try to keep UV exposure to a minimum. No spicy food. No sex. No life. He had his movie collection, but there’s only so many times you can watch a movie.

Then came the headaches, possibly a side effect of the drug, but the morons at the university wouldn’t own up to that. A small, dull ache he could manage. But this fucker pulsed through his cerebral cortex every time his heart pumped.

Another sob aroused his senses. He could hear tyres stopping outside, but no sirens. He turned to the cashier, cowering behind her desk.

“Did you press the emergency button?” She shook her head feverishly. He sighed in exasperation. “I’m not pissed off you with you, I just want to know if you’ve called the cops yet.” She looked at him, puzzled. He smiled at her, but the effect was probably spoiled by the blood pumping from his face. She nodded.

“Thank you”

He returned to the window and pulled aside the vertical blinds. One overweight black cop, standing by his car, looking up at the building.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Al” He pointed his gun up and behind him and fired. Screams. The cop ducked for cover behind his car. He saw him reaching for his shotgun and walkie-talkie. He smiled and turned. Everyone flinched.

“Ah, sorry about that. Look, this’ll all be over soon” The cashier peered over the desk.
“Why don’t you just take the money and go? I’ll show you the back door” A possibility? She seemed nice, invite her along…a pulse, the stabbing behind his eyeballs woke him up. He waved her to sit back down.

Minutes passed. He heard more tyres outside. Chancing a look outside, he could see blue barricades at the ends of the street. Nearly time. Should be getting the phone call soon.
The phone rang. He smiled, beckoning the cashier to answer it. She placed the receiver to her ear.

“Hello?… No, My name’s Naomi. I’m a teller here. He’s standing in the lobby… No.. no-one… he, he fired into the ceiling.” It made for interesting listening. He waved to attract her attention, as she looked at him he indicated the copious amounts of blood about his body. “He’s covered in blood… no, I think it’s his, it’s everywhere, it’s been dripping off him ever since he got here…. “ She proffered the phone to him. “They want to talk to you”.

The activity outside the window seemed to increase slightly. Sounds like the concept of someone dripping blood has got the trigger fingers itchy. Perfect.

He walked to the counter and the teller handed him the phone.

“Yup?”

“Hi, this is Dwayne Robinson of the New York Police department..” No fucking way.

“Hang on, Dwayne Robinson?” That threw him

“Um… yeah, why?”

“You ever seen Die Hard?” A pause, muffled voices through a palm-covered receiver.

“Um, no, but my lieutenant has. Yes, this is my real name, but we’re here to talk to you. Is anyone harmed?”

“Didn’t you just ask Naomi that?”

“Yes, but I’d like to hear it from you”

“Why, are you calling Naomi a fucking liar?” he smiled at her as he heard more muffled voices. Swearing helped. The pulsing continued unabated

“No, no, not at all, we just like to have all the facts before we start making decisions”

“Have you got google?

“Sorry?”

“Google, you’ve heard of it? Do you have it?” He could hear the questions being shouted.

“Uh, yes, we have it”

“Johnsonium nimium cruor - look it up, then meet me out front in 5 minutes”. He hung up.
Everyone in the bank was looking at him. Dripping, he picked up the money bag from the counter.

“Look, sorry everyone. I’m not a bad person, I just needed a way to end it” An elderly black woman looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“End what, child?”

He looked at her and chuckled, looking down at his clothes.

“It’s a long story”.

He walked to the door and peered outside. ‘Dwayne’ was standing in the street opposite the doors, flanked by at least 4 heavily armed and armoured.. SWAT guys? He hoped so.
He strode through the doors, money bag at one side, gun at the other, both leaving a thick trail of blood as he walked. The TV crews filming the blood-caked man walking down the steps. Dwayne looked exactly like his namesake. Tweed suit, slight quiff.

“How are you doing Nathan?”

“You found me then?”

“Over two-hundred thousand hits, yeah, we found you. What is it you want?”

This was it. The glib one-liner, the blaze of glory, and the crews were there to capture it all.

“I want it to end..”

He raised the gun quickly.



This work is copyright 2006 Peter Morris-Kelso. All characters and incidents are fictional.

It's coming.. honestly

I do have some updates coming, I promise. I'm just a little tied up right now with half my family catching Gastro-Enteritis from Luke. Or 'Typhoid Luke' as he's now called. You know, to look at him you'd never know the pain and suffering he could cause if you really piss him off.

Saying goodbye to a comatose metaphorical baby

I initially started this blog as a journal of my revitalised vigour at continuing with my book. That vigour had died. It's not that I've lost the will to write, it's just that I cannot see any way to continue with the book that doesn't infringe on the copyrights of Reign of Fire or an upcoming movie starring paul Giamatti, apparently.

Incidentally, I had the Reign of Fire idea first. It just took longer than I expected to get the fucker finished. Bastards.

Anyway. Should you wish to view my unfinished symphony, a Doc file can be downloaded from rapidshare here

I will be starting another baby soon. I've got ideas coming out of my ears, I've just had them on a back burner for 3 years as they wouldn't fit into the existing storyline. I tell you, I'm a literary genius just waitng to explode onto the world. You'll see.

(Insert witty closing statement here)

What I'd do if I won the lottery

It's a question posed within the confines of many a skull 4 out of 7 days a week, in the UK at least. It's not helped by the countless 'super jackpots' or 'rollovers' that lets the unwashed masses believe they've got a better chance of winning it this week. It's 1 in 14 million. that'll never change.

But.. on the off-chance...

A very large house, one with many rooms. You ever play Resident Evil? That house. Minus the zombies, natch. Failing that, a large house for us, the kids and family, plus several cabins out back for guests. Might even rent them out as a B&B.

I'd have to have an Italian supercar. I've always wanted a Countach or Diabolo, but apparently roadtests aren't favourable in their reviews, so I'll have to go for a Murcielago. But not in yellow.

The rest i'll probably give to the wife.

But I've got to have my cinema. 50 seats. Dolby. Bar. Amusements.

Might even have a function hall, rent it out for weddings...

Just speculating, not like I've just won it or anything. oh no.