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Little Ruthy

Hello all…

My book (The Trouble With Time Travel) is still going well and ever closer to the finish line.

Whilst writing, as a wee warm-up exercise i tend to do a little free form to drum up ideas for future projects and I think I’ve hit on something here.

Its not complete (Just an idea at this stage) and i am interested to see if this turns into a novel or a short story.

See what you you think, hope you like it ….

As always all comments and thoughts welcome x

 

Little Ruthy

“Drink, but slowly. It’ll feel a little strange as it goes down but…”

He stopped to consider his choice of words before continuing.

“That’s what you paid for.”

He finally muttered something under his breath before turning away from his pleading image in the mirror and downed the blue liquid contents in the blue cup.

He finally chanted something under his breath.

It only took a few seconds for the paralysis to kick in; one hand grasping to the sink, the other clawing at his chest, instinctively trying to stop his blood from freezing over.

The time had long since passed for second thoughts.

The last image his eyes were to capture, as his lay on the bathroom floor gasping out his last, was the little girl in the red dress.

Stepping forward out of the shadows, she smiled sweetly before blowing him a kiss and walking out of the room.

Daddy was her first.

Father Mcdaniel mopped his brow with a handkerchief that looked as though it had serviced his nose several times before tending to his sweaty head. He refilled his tumbler and drained the contents in one smooth movement. He may have lost his faith many years ago but as an alcoholic, he had a real future.

The dreams had not stopped, and this one troubled him more than most. He looked at the telephone on his desk waiting patiently for it to ring.

‘Riiiinnngggg’

To his ears, the sound was piercing, like several broken finger nails skating circles on a blackboard. He slowly picked the receiver and placed it to his ear, knowing with absolute certainty that Mrs Jennifer Collins would be hanging on the other end still trying to comprehend the apparent suicide of her loving husband.

“Hello Jennifer dear, are you alright? Slow down dear… Have you called for an ambulance?”

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Cross Culture Mojination

A friend and I have been experimenting a bit. He’s a musician and a jolly good one at that, and I thought wouldn’t it be interesting to try to have a conversation!!!

…. And they said it couldn’t be done!!

A conversation with a difference. A conversation where we communicate using only our respective art forms….

Soo he wrote a short piece of music – which if you use the magic power of… finger and press play above, you can hear – and I responded with the first thing that came to my mind…

It’s quite abstract, but what random thoughts aren’t?

Now he must read this and get composing…

I hope you enjoy. As always all comments and thoughts welcome

TTFN x

 

Breathe

 

“Grit” He looked at her and laughed

“Come on bitch you can do it.”

She snarled at him and took more air in her lungs than he thought was available in the room.

“Selfish cow, I paid for that” he joked. “Lucky for you you’re breathing for two.”

She sat on the dining table, brown beads of sweat falling from every pore and orifice, sticking what little nightgown she was wearing close to her body.

He leered at her, perverted, as her breathing deepened and became more laboured.

“You stink luv” he said “Open your legs then, I’ve got a buyer waiting if you can push this out in time”

Taking a hold of her knees he used what little strength the dissipating air in the room allowed him and prized her legs open.

Her scream was piercing, the loudest yet by his reckoning.

“Oh baby, do that again I might not be able to wait if you do.

She shook her head rapidly and took in a big consignment of air.

“Steady on luv, there’s not enough oxygen to…” He fell to his knees struggling to remain conscious.

His eyes turned a pretty beetroot red.

She wasn’t far behind, taking what remaining air there was in the room she pushed whilst outstretching her hand for him to hold.

He reached up and grabbed her arm, just one more push and it would be over.

That night a baby cried on the dinner table.

… Then it died.

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Outside

Heloooo  and Happy 2015 to you…

I had an idea for a short story today which I thought I’d share with you.

The story isn’t yet complete, there are a few directions it could go  in but i would welcome any comments and suggestions you may have.

Till next time x

Outside

“Let me in!!!”

Ten minutes of banging on the door, the fifteen or twenty times he’d yelled at the upstairs bathroom window that was slightly ajar and the countless missed calls to her mobile had prevailed nothing but an ear piercing silence.

Jack Grundy was too tired even to cry. He turned and slid down to the front step, exhausted. Looking across the street he could see that he wasn’t completely invisible, only to those he wanted to reach it seemed, neighbors curtains twitched, the odd face popped out to see what all the commotion was about before retreating into the comfortable camouflage that their darkened rooms provided.

Dorothy Evans, the street busybody made the excuse of coming out to check her car was locked. Maybe she was hoping Jack would spill his guts and tell her everything complete with spell check and grammar correction so she could relate it to the rest of the neighborhood the following day; this hot off the press Jack says “Fuck off Dot; it’s none of your goddam business!”

She simply smiled sympathetically, paused for a second as though she was trying to find the right words then walked back into her home.

It was 2am and the welcome doormat he’d purchased two years ago, the one upon which he now rested had become somewhat of an ironic note to self.

A patrol car slowly approached, lighting up the houses and the previously hidden neighbors gaping faces as it drew near.

John Hobbs the local PC got out spoke into his radio before clipping it to his belt and taking out a flashlight. He shone it on the house first surveying the area, probably checking for signs of physical disturbance before shining it in Jacks face, forcing him to raise his elbow in front of his eyes to stop him from going blind.

“Can I ask what you are doing here sir?”

Jacks mind processed a multitude of possible responses everything from “Yes I appear to have lost my key” to “Sod off PC Plodd it’s none of your goddam business either.”

In the end he felt honesty was the best answer.

“I live here officer. My wife and I had a kinda disagreement and I guess she’s not feeling like the forgiving type tonight.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Have you been drinking tonight sir?”

Jack looked almost offended “No, why?”

“This house hasn’t been lived in for over two years” he shone the torch on the house “look.”

Jack turned slowly to follow the direction the beam was facing. The door he’d been banging on only moments ago was covered by a huge wooden board, as were most of the windows in the house too. He stepped back not believing the evidence his own eyes presented. “It can’t be… I was just…”

He looked pleadingly at the officer who gently ushered him into the back of his patrol car. Jack offered no resistance.

A pair of sad eyes watched from the upstairs window as the car pulled away.

 

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Melek

ImageI sometimes think as a writer I have a dual personality, Its something I learned as an actor, often observing myself as harmony and chaos collide then travel the same road together in perfect unison.

My life’s experiences both imagined and real, laid out on the page to form a new species which plays upon the red carpet that flows from my mind.

The ‘playground’ I create becomes the world in which the characters exist by amplifying true to life situations and taking them to their absolute extreme then blending them with perfect fiction with a definite idea of the emotion I want to create whilst simultaneously developing the character and moving the plot forward.

I’d like to share with you a piece from my Novel in Progress ‘Melek’ in which we take a step back and observe the serial killer as a child. Hope you enjoy, as always all comments welcome x

 

Daddy broke eye contact with her and looked at me. ‘Its my weekend, he’s my son’. He pleaded with her  ‘You cant just stop me from seeing him when you feel like it’ . ‘Well maybe next time you’ll think of this when you piss me off, now leave!’

I used to cry when this happened, but now, nothing. Mummy has taken my tears.

In the past daddy would walk out, I wouldn’t see him, and mummy, well she’d go to bed or go out into the back garden to have a cigarette, then she’d come back in and tell me what a terrible person he was. ‘I’m ten, not stupid’.

Daddy wasn’t a horrible person he just couldn’t stand up to mummy, and mummy, well she only smiled when daddy was upset.

I made her a hot chocolate when he left. I expected a violent reaction, shouting screaming, but the pills I put in her drink just made her sleep.

She never woke up.

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