|Posted on October 20, 2010 at 7:09 PM||comments (6)|
Frank Drummond left his house a little before six pm, just like he’d done almost every night of his adult life. He kissed his wife goodbye on the doorstep, still happy that she was there to kiss and making the same promise he made every night.
“I’ll be back by dawn, love. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”...Read Full Post »
|Posted on October 15, 2010 at 1:54 AM||comments (4)|
We were a herd now. There were hundreds of us, lurching and limping across the plains, traveling westward, toward the setting sun.
Hundreds of us, lurching mindlessly but now as one, for we had found a leader. I called him "Marvin," but of course I don't know if that was really his name. None of us could talk. But he gave u...Read Full Post »
|Posted on October 7, 2010 at 1:45 AM||comments (5)|
I gradually struggled to my feet, brushing the clods of dirt from my trousers. I hurt everywhere, I was confused, and I was hungry.
Where was I? Who was I? I looked around. I was in a field of some sort, but I couldn't remember how I got here. There were trees, and shrubs, and many holes in the ground....Read Full Post »
|Posted on September 21, 2010 at 3:28 PM||comments (12)|
Contains strong language and images. Please remember, I want to make you go 'ewww'.
From inside the closet I watched, biting my tongue to stay quiet and wishing I could close my eyes. I never wanted anything more than I wanted to close my eyes that night. I’d have pulled them out with my fingers if I’d not been too scared to move. I didn’t have to re...Read Full Post »
|Posted on September 8, 2010 at 6:06 PM||comments (2)|
This is an aside to the novella I'm trying to get knocked into shape, set at the end of my take on a zombie holocaust. I'll be posting 'Reconnections' just as soon as I can get the second half of it to pretend it's half-decently written with a coherent plot. Parts 1-4 are good and, I think, rather nicely written but I don't want to post anything until the conclusion's nailed down.
In the meantime, whilst I take a break from shouting at my keyboard and wondering w...Read Full Post »
|Posted on September 8, 2010 at 4:11 PM||comments (2)|
For those who don't speak Spanish, the wife's name is a bit of an inside joke. Verdugo is Spanish for "executioner."
This should have been foreseen. The video that would go viral on youtube that caused the downfall of Springer as one of the boob tube’s greatest “sleaze hosts,” was no accident. It looked like any other show.
“Our first guest has been married to the same man for ten years, let’s ...Read Full Post »
|Posted on September 7, 2010 at 3:33 PM||comments (7)|
Mother said they lived on the other side of the tracks because that's where the poor people lived, and besides, they was colored. I used to go down near the tracks and look at the shanties and lean-to's.
But, then later, I noticed that over in the center of town all the rich, white folks had huge, fancy houses. I knew we weren't rich, and the colored's were definately poor, so we must be kind of in-between. When I ask mom about it she said we were getting by, and not ...Read Full Post »
|Posted on September 1, 2010 at 2:39 PM||comments (3)|
Prelimary Comments :
I'm not entirely pleased with this but it's about as good as it's going to get.
I'm totally chuffed I've got this one out of my head.
The name 'Griezzle' is taken from a woodcut documenting the confession of one of the witches who 'confessed' to Matthew Hopkins. If you standardise it the name is probably 'Grizzle' but I prefer the elongated vowels.
Anyway, I hope the story stands up and I'd like to know if I wrote it well.
(it's a...Read Full Post »
|Posted on August 9, 2010 at 2:32 PM||comments (8)|
The old guy upstairs ran over my cat on the twenty-third of June. I saw it happen as I was walking back from the shops, I couldn’t have been more than fifty feet away. I don’t know if he saw the cat but he did see me running along the road, shouting and waving, the beer and crisps bouncing into crumbs and fizz in my backpack. He looked at me and I swear he smiled before reversing the rest of the w...Read Full Post »
|Posted on August 9, 2010 at 1:04 PM||comments (3)|
This was on EditRed, but I thought I'd share it here too.
The howling wind made the tree by the bathroom window creak ominously, reminding Peter of the essay he had to write tonight. Only a few hundred words on the opening of Wuthering Heights, but still more than he wanted to do. Knowing that he’d be dealing with the damn book for the next six weeks didn’t help his m...Read Full Post »