The Seer 2

                                                                     Chapter 2

I peeled a tangerine breathing in the citrus tang. The wind was high. It blew sand around abandoned beach huts along the seashore.

After the last war, something was triggered to cause the earth to turn into a dust ball. Most people died. Only ten thousand survived. In Indigo Beach, the population has risen from three hundred to eight hundred. 

Most of the survivors were children and young adults. We live in an abandoned school called Indigo High. The classrooms were turned into bedrooms and the gym into a large living room. The teenagers turned the basement into a club with flashing lights and a long bar on the far side of the wall. 

A couple of the older kids dubbed by everyone as 'the twins' were setting  up a barbecue under the roof of a half collapsed beach hut. 

"Opal! It's time for the harvest!"

Annie, one of a hundred five year olds, pulled me towards the green houses. I gave her the rest of my tangerine.

"Let's go."

Two green houses were set up at the back of the school on the football field. When we got there, barrels were filled with squashes, carrots and potatoes. Jeffrey was one of the older kids. He built the green houses and started growing plants. His father had a working farm.

"Hey Jeffrey, it looks like a great harvest."

"Hi Opal, thank God for composting."

"Do you need any help?"

The thought of butternut squash soup made me salivate.

"No, Ronnie has been a big help. Thanks for stopping by."

"Good job Jeffrey. See you later."

Before leaving, I picked up a pot of lavender. 

"Opal! Opal!"

I turned around but didn't see anyone. Once in the school, I found Tom hyperventilating in the corner of his room.

"It's OK Tom, I'm here. Take a few deep breaths. Annie, run to the kitchen and grab a pestal and mortar. "

The Black Rose 2

                                                                         Chapter 2

                                                                            Jane

Jane placed a single white rose on Sarah's coffin. She stepped back and the coffin was lowered down into the earth. 

Her boots sunk into the rain soaked grass. There was no one left at the cemetery. During the funeral, she hung back watching from a distance as her friends sobbed over their dead friend.

Rain started to fall, distracting her from her misery.

"Miss, the cemetery is closing."

The undertaker had a permanent scowl on his face.

"Oh, sorry. I'm just leaving."

She looked up and the sky had gone from grey and blue to grey and blood orange.

Later that night, Jane soaked in the bathtub, and scrubbed blood from under her nails. 

The Seer 1

                                                                         Chapter 1

I never thought that the smell of freshly cut grass would take me back to a time when summer days felt infinite, when the sun felt divine on my skin and when a snow ball fight at 1:00AM filled me with delight.

The murmur of people in the next room brought me back too soon. I opened my eyes to a woman quietly sobbing into her sleeve. A stool was placed in front of me. I stepped on it and waited for silence to take over. A still lake quivered in my mind. I stretched my hands and placed them on top of the crying woman's head.

Images of a man's bleeding body face down on a wooden floor filled my senses. The images flickered. The lake was still again. I opened my eyes to a figure of the same man standing next to her. 

"He's here. He's standing next to you."

The woman stopped crying. 

"Is he OK?"

I smiled and dropped my hands down.

"Yes. He's fine. He wants to tell you that he'll always be with you."

She stood up and bowed down to me.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, Jennifer." 

A shock registered on her face. She left quickly almost tripping on her dress.

I jumped off the stool and took it with me through to a blue kitchen. A large window overlooked what used to be the Blue Forest. It used to be so dense that no one has ever successfully hiked through it. Everyday, hikers would be found lost wondering around in circles. 

Now, it's a desert. Dunes replaced what used to be a coniferous forest. Nobody knows why it happened. Everybody knows how it happened. Today, all that matters is that we're alive. Today I'm a year older. Nobody expected that a nine year old would save the world.

The Black Rose 1

                                                               

Chapter 1

 

Sarah

 

   She was late. Again. Clutching a bottle of prosecco, she pressed the buzzer. A chirpy “Who is it?” made her heart beat fast.

   “It’s Sarah.”

   A click sounded and she pulled the front door open. Three flights of steps later, she finally arrived at 31A. The door opened blasting her with Usher’s Yeah. Amelia greeted her with a wide friendly smile.

   “Sarah! Come in!”

   “Thanks.”

   She placed the bottle on the coffee table. Claire greeted her with a bear hug.

   “I’m so glad you came. We didn’t think you’d make it.”

   “Sorry I’m late.”

   “I know. Do you want Prosecco or Bailey’s?”

   “Prosecco would be good. Thanks.”

   Claire passed her a cool bubbly glass. She sat next to Jane.

   “Hi Jane. How are you?”

   “I’m good. Thanks,” she frowned.

   “Are you sure?”

   “Yeah, I’m fine,” she looked down at her black boots.

   Sarah removed her denim jacket and downed the whole glass.

   “Jane, what’s wrong?”

   “Nothing.”

   “I’m trying to help you.”

   “Really? Help me? Why don’t you ask yourself what help you need?”

   Sarah stood up, nostrils flaring and hands on her hips. Jane stood up and stepped back.

   “Fuck off Jane. I’m trying to help you. Why are you behaving this way?”

   Jane moved a few steps forward.

   “Because you keep talking behind my back, that’s why!

   Claire hurried towards us, blonde hair fanning behind her. Her heart pendant swayed back and forth.

   “Girls! Stop fighting! This is a celebration.”

   She looked at us with that resting bitch face we’re all used to.

   “Fine!”

   Jane flopped down clutching a cushion. Sarah flailed her arms around whispering to Claire. She ignored the person sitting next to her. A hot seething anger ran through her body. Flash backs of happier times with Sarah replaced her anger with deep sadness. A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders.

   “Alright Janey?”

   Lizzie smiled compassionately. Her purple hair and nose ring made her look instantly cool.

   “No, not really, but I’ll be alright.”

   “If you need to talk, let me know.”

   “Thanks Lizzie.”

   A chocolate cake with a single candle emerged from behind the sofa. Claire started singing happy birthday and we all joined in.

   “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Amelia, happy birthday to you!”

   Sarah filled everyone’s glass and drank the rest of the prosecco from the bottle. We clinked glasses and took a few sips. Claire passed around slices of cake on napkins. Jane moved over to sit on a sofa parallel to the one she was sitting on.

   “What’s it like to be thirty, Amy?”

   “Right now, it’s pretty good.”

   She smiled warmly.

   “Jane, are you free tomorrow?”

   “I might be. I’ll ask Rose if still wants to go to the cinema.”

   Her brown eyes lit up.

   “What film are you going to watch?”

   “The new Emma film. It has really good reviews.”

   “OH! I love Emma, well, if you are free in the day, come and join us for a roast.”

   “When are you going?”

   “Not sure yet, bring Rose with you.”

   “OK.”

   Sarah ran to the bathroom and threw up. Claire ran after her.

   “Sarah! Are you OK?”

   She held her hair away from her face.

   “Too much prosecco. I’ll be fine.”

   “What do you need?”

   “A greasy burger and a coke?”

   She half joked and threw up.

   “Tell me where you want to get it and I’ll go.”

   “You’re too kind. No, don’t worry about it. I’ll get some on the way home.”

   Claire grabbed a pink towel from the rail and wrapped it around her shoulders.

   “OK, let me know if you need anything.”

   She smiled weakly.

   “Will do.”

   The celebrations carried on for the next couple of hours with more drinking and more pizzas being ordered. Claire peaked her head into the bathroom.

   “How are you doing?”

   “I can’t stop throwing up and my stomach hurts. I think I’m going home.”

   “Do you want me to call you a taxi?”

   “That would be great Claire.”

   “Calling one now.”

   She pulled her phone from her back pocket and dialled 20 40 60. Amelia joined the crowd in the bathroom.

   “How are you feeling Sarah?”

   “Not so good.”

   Amelia popped her head back in.

   “The taxi is here. Get better Sarah”

   Jane peaked in too and plastered on a smile.

   “I hope you get better.”

   Sarah eyed her up coldly.

   “Thanks Jane.”

   The party disintegrated when Sarah left. Jane and Lizzie shared a taxi. Claire was picked up by her husband.

 

   Sunday was a warm day with a cool breeze blowing through the Windmill pub. Claire, Amelia, Lizzie and Jane ordered their roasts. Claire and Amelia ordered G and Ts, while Jane and Rose sipped on Mojitos. Lizzie sipped on a craft beer. Amelia checked on her phone and put it down on the table.

   “Has anyone heard from Sarah?”

   We all checked our phones. Claire frowned.

   “No, not even a text. I hope she got home alright.”

   Jane and Rose kissed briefly. Lizzie called Sarah and left a voicemail.

   “Hey Sarah, I hope you’re OK. We’re here at the pub. Please call me back. Bye.”

   She placed her phone on the table. Their roasts arrived hot and delicious. They dug in appreciating the crispy Yorkshire pudding and delicate meat that melted in the mouth. An hour later, they pushed their desserts plates forward and sighed. Amelia stood up and announced her next plan of the day.

   “Let’s go to the beach!”

   Claire joined her.

   “Yes! The sun is still out. Let’s enjoy the day.”

   Jane and Rose looked at each other.

   “Sorry guys, we have a film to watch.”

   They got up, put their coats on and hugged their friends.

   Amelia’s phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number, but felt compelled to answer it.

   “Hello?”

   She cradled the phone under her chin while pulling on her pea coat.

   “OMG! You have to come now!”

   “Come where? Who are you?”

   The caller sobbed uncontrollably.

   “It’s Helen, Sarah’s flatmate. Was Sarah’s flatmate.” Claire tapped her on the shoulder. Amelia mouthed ‘wait’ to her. “You need to come over now.”

   “Why Helen? Is she OK?”

   “She’s …She’s dead.”

   Amelia sat back down in her chair.

   “What do you mean ‘she’s dead’?”

   “Just come now.”

   She hung up leaving Amelia feeling bereft.

  

   Amelia and Claire huddled outside Sarah’s flat crying over each other’s shoulders. A short slim man with dark cropped hair approached them.

   “I’m DS Scott. DI York informed me that you were friends with Miss Blake.”

   Amelia took a deep breath before speaking.

   “Yes, we were.”

   “Alright. We’ve contacted her family. They’re on their way. If you’d like to join me to the police station, I’d like to take a statement from you too.”

   “Of course.”

   They rode in his black BMW in silence. The loss of their best friend weighed down on them as they gave their statements. Claire noticed a picture that was peeking out of a folder named Blake, S.

   “Um, is that Sarah’s face?”

   DS Scott closed his eyes and swore under his breath.

   “Yes, it is.”

   “Can we see it?”

   “I’m not allowed to do that, madam.”

   She pulled an arm around Amelia.

   “Please, this would be the last time we would have see her.”

   He pulled out a packet of Marlboro’s, removed one cigarette and lit it. Smoke circled around them making the glaring lights hazy. He pushed the folder towards them.

   “Don’t open the file. Just pull out the picture.”

   Amelia looked at Claire. She looked back at Amelia. They both leant forward with an index finger and coaxed the picture out. Amelia pulled back and muffled a scream with her hands. Claire was shaking, too in shock to say anything. They hugged each other and looked at the picture again.  

   “What…what is that?”

   Amelia pointed at Sarah’s gaping mouth. DS Scott dragged a couple more times on the cigarette and threw the bud into a half drunk cup of tea.

   “That is a black rose. Do you know the significance of it?”

   “No, I don’t.”

  “It’s a symbol of death and mortality. Or even hatred. Did she have any enemies?”

   They looked at each other again. Claire seemed to have found her words.

  “No, not really. Friends argue and get back together, you know. Nothing serious.”

   He nodded.

   “I see. Thank you ladies. If I have any more questions, I’ll give you a call.”

   “Thank you detective.”

  

   Amelia was wide awake at 1AM. All she could see was the pale face of Sarah, eyes open and her mouth filled with a single black rose. She could feel the thorns cut at her throat. The bitter taste of the petals. The cold dead eyes of her friend.

  

 

  

  

  

  

Friday Night Frights 12

                                                           Chapter 12

   In a curtained corner of the hospital, Billie eyed up the red headed doctor who was sewing up the gash in his shoulder.

   “You’re lucky Mr Turner, the cut is five millimetres away from damaging the nerves around your shoulder bone.”

   “I’m lucky you’re my doctor.”

   She smiled as she cut the thread. Marc snickered on a chair next to him. He moved closer to look at the stiches.

   “What’s the damage?”

   She placed her tools on a metal tray.

   “Twelve inches and a permanent scar.”

   Billie pulled his arm gently into his shirt’s sleeve.

   “That’s not too bad, Billie. It could’ve been much worse.”

   He nodded and made a note of the doctor’s name badge.

   “Doctor Thorne, is that your real name?”

   “It certainly is.”

   “Will you join me for a coffee?”

   “Get yourself another doctor and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

   He held his hand out. They shook hands. Billie pulled her closer smelling lavender on her wrist.

   “What’s your name?”

   “Scarlet, Mr Turner.”

   “Call me Billie.”

 

   Four floors above, an alarm brought nurses and a police officer who was standing guard at the door running into the room searching for the gunshot patient who was there only an hour earlier. The bed was bare and the covers pushed aside. Several wires were tangled between the sheets and the bed railings. The window was open letting in a fresh breeze over the chaos in the room. A trail of blood stained the sheets, the floor and dripped from the window sill. The curtains billowed around a brightening sky which glinted at a pair of silver scissors in an evidence bag.

 

 

Friday Night Frights 11

                                                                Chapter 11

   Sweat trickled down Billie’s forehead and blinded his left eye. This is it. He’s going to die. Taken down by a psychopath who has a fascination with blue eyes. Heather shoved his sock back into his mouth.

   “Are you comfortable?” He muffled out an answer. “Those eyes will be mine in no time.” He turned his head hoping that it was going to be a painless death, but in reality, this was going to be the worst thing he’ll ever go through.

   A large shadow blocked the light streaming through the white curtain. She stopped and looked up. It passed and she returned to her favourite pet. Billie wriggled towards the side table where she placed the scissors. He grabbed them with this left hand and aimed them at her neck. She turned around and laughed at him.

   “Do you really think that you’re going to kill me?”

   He spat the sock at her.

   “I’ll try my best.”

   They wrestled for the scissors taking turns jabbing each other in the process. Billie found himself sliding off the bed and falling with a loud thump on the floorboards. He screamed out loud when Heather shoved the scissors into his shoulder.

  A loud crash broke through the large bedroom window. A large figure wrapped in a white curtain wrestled out of it.

   “Stop! Don’t you dare move!” Billie and Heather froze. Marc winced at the shard of glass wedged in his thigh. He pointed his gun at Heather. “Get up. Move away from him.”

   She stood up and moved slowly towards her vanity where she kept a large pair of sewing scissors. Billie slowly pulled out the scissors lodged in his shoulder. Marc approached him and helped him sit up.

   “Are you OK?”

   He winced at the bleeding gash.

   “I will be.”

   Heather removed the large sewing scissors from the top drawer at her vanity and ran towards Marc holding them high and aiming for his neck. Billie reached for the discarded scissors and tried to push his friend away.

   “Get out of the way!”

   He saw Heather moving in slow motion towards him. She fell towards him as he pulled the trigger. The large scissors missed him by an inch. A splatter of blood marked the pure whiteness of the room.  

 

The Illusion Of Being A Writer

Taking a closer look at being a writer and how other people see me as a writer is one big clash of an illusion which almost feels like being sucked into a giant black hole.

Illusion 1:

Being a writer and loosing myself into a fantastical world is the happiest place I find myself in. The ultimate goal of being published and doing this for a living sometimes feels like being in a hamster wheel while trying to catch passing clouds. In reality, the act of writing is the happiest place.

Illusion 2:

This is the bigger bubble that surrounds the hamster wheel which is other people's opinions and ideas on how I should act or behave as a writer. That also includes the endless criticisms of why I'm not published yet, how I should write, what I should write and why I'm not writing at every minute of the day. 

This puts tremendous pressure on the cracking hamster wheel on needing to succeed right now. Occasionally, I find that hamster bursting straight through into oblivion and floating around outer space, while gently being nudged around by astroids. 

The illusion of bring a writer feels like vibrating molecules trying so hard to be solid. 

Breaking out of these illusions starts with writing for the love of writing and letting the other illusion flow away, and bounce back at the criticisms. Sometimes not paying attention to it disintegrates the illusion.

There are times doing that is really hard. Hold on to your authenticity. Write whatever you want to write. The illusions will float away like smoke on a mirror and all that's left is you.

Stay safe, take care of yourself. 

Wonder Woman XXX