Untitled, unfinished, dissatisfied. Enjoy!

The natural light from the high sun clawed at Norvin’s eyes, forcing him to squint and use his hand as a shield. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the new, free, light, and when they did it was worth the momentary pain. The trees and shrubbery that surrounded him were a vast array of greens, all thriving with life: the grey walls had housed Norvin for the last eight hundred and fourteen days were dead and cold. Norvin spread out his arms, tilted his head back and gazed through the clearing in the over-head trees, whilst spinning around and around. A slight breeze ran its fingers through his long, matted hair and beard making him feel alive. All of a sudden, he became all too aware of where he had just come from. After all, he is still on the run. Norvin crouched, low and ready with his ear scanning the air. He reached around to his back with his right hand but found nothing, strange, and then he felt around his surroundings and grasped a small rock, cocked his arm, and launched the missile through the clearing above him. A painful cry pierced the air that was swiftly followed by the dull thud of dinner.

 

Norvin quickly pushed his way through the over-grown shrubbery to find feathers and blood. He stooped down and swept his index finger through the blood and sucked off the blood. Screwing his face up in perplexity and cursed the Gods for depriving him of a decent meal. Norvin followed the blood trail through the trees, which had now become sparse. Approaching a huge fallen, blood stained tree, he stopped, inhaled deep and smelt something other than blood, damp leaves and rotting wood – dog.

 

Norvin grasped the top of the fallen Razorwood, taking care not to alert the beast on the other side and taking extra care not to pull any of the bark off (the sap underneath is deadly to those who don’t know how to handle it). On reaching the top, Norvin slowly poked his head over the tree and bore witness to his dinner, the bird he had so skilfully killed earlier, locked in the bloody jaws of a wolfhound. Oblivious to her audience, the wolfhound ripped into the large bird with frightening force.  Norvin lost his grip on the bark and slipped a few inches and pulled a chunk of bark away in an effort to regain his hold on the tree. The wolfhound must have heard Norvin slip. As he poked his head over the top again he was met with a pair of fiery, orange eyes and bloodied, razor-sharp teeth. She did hear me. Before she had time to open her jaws, Norvin grabbed the hound by the scruff of the neck and threw her over his head towards the ground. As she hit the ground, Norvin leapt off of the tree and buried his knee into her spine. She let out a yelp and quickly spun around so she was all teeth and claws on the offence. There’s only one thing worse than a wolfhound in a bad mood; a wolfhound in a bad mood that’s backed into a corner. Norvin had done just that and she was pissed. Without warning she attacked with unbelievable speed, but she wasn’t quick enough. Norvin had already guessed her move and stepped to the side, making her miss. As she tumbled clumsily along the ground, Norvin slammed his fist down onto her head crushing her skull. She was still, not even a whimper. The final blow had caused massive head trauma and killed her instantly.

 

“How did I just kill a wolfhound with my bare hands?” Norvin questioned aloud. Exhausted, Norvin slumped to the ground and propped himself up against a nearby tree, repeating the question over and over again with no success of finding an answer. His eyes became leaden and his head was rocking back and forth trying to fight off the tiring effects of navigating the forgotten tunnels and fighting for his life. In a matter of minutes he was bouncing around on clouds with twenty young, beautiful women feeding him grapes and drinking wine. His slumbering lips curved into a slight smile.

 

 

 

 

  

A short Intro to a story unfinished...

A Tale of Two Faces

“He’s a strange one. Started coming in here about a month ago. Don’t know much ‘bout him, don’t really care. He comes in, sits in that seat over there,” the burly landlord pointed to the corner of the room where there was a shady-looking, middle-aged man sitting and smoking a pipe, uttering silent words, “smoking his pipe and drinking ‘til the cows come home. He doesn’t talk much neither; don’t get me wrong, he ain’t rude or nothing. Jus’ doesn’t talk. Wait a second, there was one time that he spoke – nah, ‘spose it don’t matter”. The landlord paused, gave a quick glance over to the mystery man, leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “’Bout a week ago there was another man that came in – ne’er seen him before – walked over to…” he nodded over to the mystery man “and handed him a piece of important-looking paper. The guy walked straight back out, gave me a smile and left. ‘Bout a minute later, ol’ puffy over there stood up, asked me to watch his ale and walked out the door. Looked like he was fixin’ t’do a bad thing. He came back for his ale alright, came back with a menacing grin on his face - scared the hell outta me. You ask Roger over there, he was here the whole time”.  

***

“You come about him? I was wondering how long it would take you people to get here. I haven’t anything to say to you and my glass is nearly empty”. The well-spoken, middle-class Roger grinned with triumph at his attempt at playful bribery. It worked. Roger laughed, “Atta boy, the finest sherry money can buy…” he fell into a whisper “well, the finest Mr Landlord over there will ever buy in. I’ll get straight to it, shall I? It was early afternoon, last Tuesday – I’d just come back from The Hunt and popped in for a sherry. Our friend over there was sitting in his usual seat over by the fire and looking into the room with those beady, calculating eyes of his. Those eyes always sends a chill right through me”. Roger shuddered, and then continued in a very matter-of-fact way. “Yes, there he was, smoking his pipe, drinking his ale and muttering to himself, as usual. All of a sudden a stranger burst in. We don’t see many people we don’t know come through here, you see – except you know who.” Roger moved his eyes in the direction of our ‘friend’. “I can’t remember the last time we had anyone new come through here… oh, listen to me waffling on like an old goat. Anyway, this stranger burst in and handed to him a piece of parchment, then walked straight back out. Sure, he was polite enough; he smiled at Martin as he left. It was all just very odd. Then, our friend followed him out and came back looking devilish about ten minutes later.” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Good bye old chap and thank you for the drink,” he exclaimed as he gestured with his glass.

***

“So you’re the man that’s been poking his nose into business that’s not his. It’s nice to finally make your acquaintance, Mr…” he paused, waiting for a name, “not much of a talker, eh? I already know what you’re here for anyway, I was just trying to be nice,” he grinned like a tiger trying to lure his prey into his cage. He took a huge guzzle of his ale and let out a small burp. While puffing on his pipe he introduced himself, “the name’s Lance. Lance Gelder. You can call me sir.”

Then he smiled and almost looked like a different man. “I moved into the area about a month ago; I spend most of my time in here, minding my own business, drinking ale and smoking on my pipe.” He paused, took a deep breath and scratched his greying beard. “I can tell by the look on your face that you want to know my involvement with the dead man they found last Friday. Very well, it greaves me to say that he was my brother. Well, my step brother. He was the man that Martin and Roger saw come in here last Tuesday” He re-lit his pipe and chugged away on it before continuing. “Our… my mother recently died and left us a respectably wealthy estate. Split everything – half and half. The woman was rich, and I don’t mean sherry-drinking-Roger-rich,” he chuckled, “I mean so rich she could’ve bought a factory. Unfortunately, my brother became greedy and deceitful and had the will changed so that everything went to him. Don’t ask how because I don’t know. I didn’t particularly care for him at the best of times but I didn’t want him dead. He’s the only family I had left.”

Unexpectedly, Lance’s face changed, becoming cold and manipulative. Then he started to laugh with scornful malice. The tone of his voice was now tainted with venom. “He deserved it. He deserved everything he had coming to him. He tried to weasel his way into our family, MY FAMILY!” Lance found his feet in a fit of rage, causing Martin to drop a glass in horror then the pub fell silent. Lance was suddenly calm again, all signs of aggression dormant. He sat back down and straightened out his jacket. “Oh, how did that get there?” confused, he picked up his pipe from the floor where it had fallen during his rage. He coolly concluded, “I don’t know who killed him but he’s still my brother and I want to know who’s responsible for his murder.”

Work in Progress

The Everglades were beautiful. Luscious greens, electric blues, sunset yellows, soothing violets and deep crimsons. The birds chirped their joyful songs, complimenting one another as they flitted from one perch to another. The ground was soft; deep, moist and spongey moss hugged the ground. The yellow Phoenix flowers gave off a unique ash like smell, it was something quite special. The trees had that earthy pine smell and the lightening flower gave off very odd aroma indeed, it was likened to the honeysuckle with a hint of jasmine. The whole of The Everglades was rife with enchanting smells from one corner to the other.

Luna was a regular visitor the The Everglades. Most of her waking hours were spent here; walking, reading, learning, dreaming and yet, the secrets within were yet to reveal themselves.

Luna was making her way to her favourite spot, the old Oak, passing the lightening flowers - they only grew in one particular area. They were are either side of the path and overhung slightly. Luna extended her arms to reach either side of the path and brush her long, delicate fingers across the tops of the flowers. She'd heard the village elder talking about the magic properties the lightening flowers possessed but she took no notice in such nonsense. Her fingertips began to tingle and the sensation darted up her arms, across her shoulders and down her spine. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and she felt exhilarated. She broke into a run, arms and fingers still extended to capture the feeling again. Faster and faster she ran and harder and harder the feeling electrified her body. She felt alive and powerful.

All of a sudden, seering hot pain bolted through her neck and dropped her to the ground, the impact cushioned by the moss. She couldn't move. The pain moved up into her head and a piercing high pitched squeal engulfed her ears. Everything went black. The pain had rendered her unconscious...

A Nightmare Saviour

The last bus home is my saviour. If it were not for this humble gentlemen driving this over-sized, glass box, I would be walking. Well, I use the term "walking" loosely. I would be battling the elements, taking on Mother Nature in her raw form.

The last bus home is my nightmare. If it were not for the drunken man falling asleep, with slurred words of wisdom in his distant land, a pungent smell of alcohol (which, by the way, I served to him not forty minutes ago) and stale piss... Were it not for him, I would have had a pleasant ride on the midnight carriage.

Sleep well, Father.

On Death's Shoulder We Cry

Midnight runs through my veins,
Midnight embraces my twisted soul.
I long for Earth-shattering rains,
To cover my dark patrol.

I cannot be seen, I cannot be heard.
However, my friend, it is you I come to reap.
No matter how mean, no matter how absurd,
It is you, my friend, that I hear weep.

I have many names and many a guise
But fear not, my friend, for today we only dance.
Look yonder, for there sits your demise
But fear not, my friend, for today we only dance.

Midnight will become thy kin,
Midnight embraces thy twisted soul.
Beware, the ice beneath wears thin.
To stay alive, my friend, is your only goal.

The Drug Dealer

 My life so far, has been reduced to becoming a drug dealer. I see that you are slightly shocked but interested as to why I would openly admit that I am a drug dealer. You need not to worry, I am not your average weed runner or crack head, no. I sell high-end, legal drugs. The police, inadvertently, hate me and others like me. For I am a bartender.

You go about your Monday to Friday, nine 'til five jobs, go out clubbing at the weekend and nurse a hangover on Sunday with a heart constricting, English breakfast. You should be cursing me for that but you don't, do you? And do you know why? Well, let me enlighten you; You go out with your friends and you go out for one reason - getting so drunk that you don't remember how you got home, why you woke up with no bottoms or underwear and a used condom staring at you on your pillow. Am I close? No? Okay, so that may only be aimed at some people but, if you ask yourself, thruthfully, it isn't far from the truth.

You don't curse the barman for serving you the drinks. You text your friends and say something along the lines of, "Wot did u do to me last nite!?" However, little do you know, I am the thorn in your side, the brass band in your head, the vomit beside your bed. I am your demise when you go out to "have a good time". I am your drug dealer.

Life

Whispers of old, whispers of new
Please, prick your ear and take a pew.
This age grows dark, this age grows wild
But with light and peace, together, my child
Together, we can write history anew.

Secrets of old, secrets of new
Please, prick your ear and take a pew.
Time is against us, time is on our side
Do with it what you will, my child
For judgement day shall take his last ride.

The truth is out there, the truth is in here
Listen carefully, judgement is near.
Questions unanswered, answers unquestioned
Listen carefully, judgement is near.

Listen carefully, judgement is...